#Lost in the Pink Mist

[doyouknowthistmntau]

Do you know Lost in the Pink Mist AU by @lost-in-the-pink-mist??

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[lost-in-the-pink-mist]

Why do Donnies keep disappearing?

Well, our Donnie fell victim to xeir curiosity. And an agitated duck.

@tangledinink @tmntaucompetition

[hoseoksluna]

STEAM | myg ft. jjk

pairing: boyfriend!yoongi x oc (feat. jungkook)

genre: smut

word count: 9.2k

summary: one video call awakens your neediness for two cocks.

playlist: steam / pinterest board: steam

warnings: female masturbation, mentions of shower sex, praise kink, toying with the idea of polyamory, a hint of voyeurism, oc rly goes through it and faces mental battles, fear, intoxication, punishment, dom/sub dynamics, fingering, choking, cum eating, manhandling, degradation, provocation, mutual masturbation, rough & raw sex, brief oral sex (f. receiving), pet names

note: IT'S FINALLY HEREEEEEE SKFDSFLSFJ, okay so—let me introduce to you a new yoongi series featuring JUNGKOOK oh my god. i am SO EXCITED about this and i wanna apologize for my insane ideas in advance... i'm so sorry, guys. nevertheless, i hope you like this as much as i do, i literally went mad writing this and i smoked so many cigarettes i lost count. please, let me kNOW UR FAVORITE PARTS CUZ I HAVE SO MANY AND I WANNA TALK ABOUT THEM. oh fuck, guys. ENJOY READING SDKFJSD. ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

side note: btw, the playlist i made is literally perfect and depicts the fic wonderfully. you can listen while you read! <3

The scent of mangoes finds its way up your nostrils, heating your senses through its balmy touch as you rub the body butter over the damp skin of your arms. Fingers graze along your décolletage, tucking in the fragrance for your boyfriend to breathe in when he comes home. He’s out for the night—said something about his friend finishing his military service, so the whole group was going out to celebrate it. Yoongi was so frantic in his excitement, hastily putting on the first outfit that sparked his eye. Didn’t even touch his hair, only sprayed a mist of his sandalwood and tangerine-tinged perfume. Grabbed his phone, keys, wallet. Barely kissed you goodbye before he fled out of the door.

He didn’t even ask you if you wanted to come along.

You didn’t mind, though—you’re only in the early stages of your relationship. It hasn’t even been half a year since you’ve started dating. And you figure he deserves a night out with his closest friends because you’ve been attached to the hip since the beginning. Funnily enough, you no longer live at your own place. Somehow, you’ve settled in Yoongi’s apartment, never setting foot outside, save for your walks, grocery shopping, the few dates with your friends and work. There wasn’t any conversation about it; you just mostly spend your free time with your boyfriend.

And all you do is fuck, eat and watch movies.

The last time Yoongi took you out was during the first two months you’d been getting to know him. The realization of how long it’s been sends a trail of chills down your arms and you rub it away.

But because you’ve been spending all your time together, you’re glad to have a moment to yourself—glad to be able to take a long hot shower, to do your hair and skincare. Perhaps, you’ll even have time to do your nails and that energizes you, propels you to spread the body butter further down the rest of your body. It is your rose garden, these night times reserved for your hot showers. The place you go to—your hideaway from the pressure and nerves of life that the steam loosens and soothes, especially when you let your sultry playlist echo through the mightiness of Yoongi’s bathroom, your favorite singer’s voice reaching your veins like the growing stems of those roses; pretty, pink and so feminine. Yes, Yoongi’s therapy sessions and thick length might have been a great help, the best in fact, but there’s something about letting yourself be burned off of all that’s been weighing you down and watching it trickle down the drain that is just so satisfying.

It was all that you were once used to. That is, until you met Yoongi.

Showers with him are something else.

Something you never thought you could ever have the blessing to encounter. Showers with Yoongi are intense, so out of pocket that you find yourself thinking about them fondly whenever you’re alone with your thoughts. There, beneath the downpour of the warm water, he lets you see the other side of his ever unyielding stern façade. While holding you, he would make you laugh, then make you moan and break that sound with each hard plunge of his cock. Hair slicked back, smirk adorning that delicious wet mouth, causing him to look like a Mafioso bent on absolutely ruining you. He would tell you the most insane story he heard from his friend, then talk you through the build-up of your orgasm while continuing to the point of that story—seamlessly waving through, never losing tempo. “Then, he went up to his hyung to ask him about what he did—yes, just like that, honey, take it. I know you’re almost there, just listen.” You would come all over his cock, sprinkling him with your essence, right there at the end of his story and like a hungry man, he’d get on his knees and eat you up, muttering how good you are and how well you did along with each swipe of his tongue. Your lungs would heave due to the overstimulation, your legs would tremble, unable to stand and he’d gather you into his arms, fold you like paper into the crooks of his body and let his thick duvet drape over you. He’d fall asleep first, breathing in the scent of your shampoo, snoring softly behind you while spooning you, never letting go of his deathly grip around you. And while you would breathe in the haze of lilac sprayed on his pillows, you’d become aware of the drowsy rhythm of his heartbeat, the lift and fall of his chest against your back, the snug heat of his body and it would lull you to sleep.

That has become your new version of hot long showers.

And if it isn’t this, then it’s Yoongi letting you quickly wash yourself before he’d steal you away, dragging you into this bed, only to carry you back there an hour later.

You speculate he has a serious, adorable case of attachment issues.

That is why you enjoy your exceptional alone shower all the more—you haven’t had it in so long. Only this time, it’s quite different.

You feel him everywhere.

You feel him in the drift of your hand down your tummy because you recollect the way he likes to pepper kisses there on his way to eat you out. You feel him when you round your palms across your backside because you know he particularly likes to leave traces of saliva when he presses open-mouthed kisses there. His love for you circulates in your bloodstream, mingling with the little love you have for yourself, making it bigger, turning it into a turbulent rush of liquid. You sense it tapping beneath your skin, asking for more of your body just like Yoongi does, always begging, begging for more—for more skin to kiss and lick, for more sensitive parts of you to find and nibble on.

Your hands sense the ghost of him even when your fingers slip past your mound and realize that the film of your memories dampened your cunt. You hear the words of praise he’d utter into your ear at the discovery and you sigh at your tender touch. 

That’s a good girl. Messy for me. 

The rotund case of your body butter remains opened, forgotten. You suddenly have better things to do—like give your body the self-care, the self-love it deserves.

It’s a part of the solo girl's night.

A mewl comes out of your mouth at the first round of circles on your clit. Furrowing your brows at the pleasure, you prop your free hand on the edge of the bathroom counter, riding the pads of your fingers. And then, just like Yoongi taught you, you take your digits away, edging yourself, taking them elsewhere. You cry out at the contact of your wet fingertips on your stiff nipple and you pinch the nub, a spasm of delight coursing through your sensitiveness.

You imagine Yoongi standing behind you. Not touching you, merely guiding you, telling you when to stop, when to pick up the pace—when to fill your hole. Watching you in the mirror, hands in his pockets, having a perfect view of your slick-caked folds, of your clit swollen and asking for his tongue. Determined to make you lose your mind by teasing you, letting you only slap your pussy once you’re close. Your essence drips out of you at that thought, making a mess on the floor and you plug it in with your finger, fucking yourself steadily, inflamed by how slippery your heat is, how easy it is to slip the digit inside. Hot flashes close over your body, pearls of perspiration kissing the crook of your neck. You fuck yourself faster and—

A sudden ring of your phone jolts you. And the picture of your boyfriend, half dressed, with the early morning sunlight leaking over the scars and tattoo on his shoulder, crammed inside your screen, greets you.

You pant hard, your finger still inside of you. Delirious.

He must be on his way home. You don’t even know what time it is. 

Leaning forward, you hide your breasts behind your forearm and you swipe your finger to accept his video call.

Blurry Yoongi. The night sky, starlit and alive, behind him. A shoal of silhouettes, some lanky and some buff, all short-haired and all as woozy-lidded as you. The picture smooths into a crystal clear view and there you see your boyfriend, the nocturnal breeze brushing his ebony hair back. Not just him, however, but another male craning his neck to regard you fully. 

His eyes flicking from your neck to the smallest of your exposed décolletage, a smirk blossoming on his face like your imaginary roses. 

Yoongi slaps his phone face down. You withdraw your finger from your heat, a cacophony of giggles, whiny cries and the exclamations of his name emitting out of your mouth. 

He is not, in fact, on his way home. 

It is a warning, his low and strict call of your name back and, heeding it, you take your phone into your hands, so he’s only able to see your deeply flushed face. Device back in his hand, he’s not looking at you at all. As a matter of fact, he’s shooting daggers fueled with deadly nightshade at his friend, grumbling something that you can’t quite make out amidst the chaos and bustle of the outing. The shoal of the rest of his friends and strangers disappear out of the perspective, as if threatened by the cold energy. 

You wish you knew what he’s saying to him. Even your pussy aches to hear it. The principle of him scolding his friend for looking at you at your most private moment scorches you and you’re red, flattered and majestically horny. 

Yoongi turns his head to see if you’re well-behaved and you beam at him, the pulse on your clit intensifying, forcing you to say, “come home, Yoongi.” 

He chuckles, aware of the reason behind your words, pretends he isn’t. “What were you doing, baby?” 

The growth of your grin doesn’t falter. You show him the sheen of your wet finger in the ivory bathroom light, the glint, the stickiness as you push your index finger to your middle and pull away, your arousal on full, filthy display. 

He curses under his breath. Doesn’t give a fuck that his friend sits beside him and adjusts in his seat. Bites his lip briefly. “Stick it in your mouth for me.” 

Doesn’t say the words that so very often follow after in that sentence. Taste yourself. 

Why he doesn’t step aside to take this video call eludes you, but something about you being watched by two pairs of eyes excites you. Enough for you to do as he says. Perhaps it’s due to the fact you don’t know the male sitting beside him and Yoongi is letting him keep his sight glued to the screen. 

Two sharp inhales of breath. Not one of yours. Yoongi readies his hook to feignedly lash out at his friend and you press your thighs together to alleviate yourself of the unbearable feeling between your legs. Confidence, a bad, bad version of confidence suffuses you whole, turning you into a person gone mad by lust. You swirl your tongue around your digit, the tanginess of your taste causing your eyes to narrow, the principle of driving not just one, but two men mad just the same intoxicates you, as if you were there among them, drinking. 

A pair of round eyes peek at the corner of the screen. Soft, naive, so terribly innocent. A dash of sobriety washes over you, owed to those brownish effervescent orbs, a sprinkle shame pooling low in your core. A reality check. You sense some kind of stability of that reality beneath those eyelashes of his, the stability that whispers—is this the right thing to do? 

It’s not rough, it’s not stern, it’s not Yoongi coded—it’s anything but. Gentleness is what you detect, free of any prejudice. 

You sigh. Millions of thoughts about how you could toy with them pass through your mind, but you decide against them, the stability a pillar that blends into your spine, helping it unbend. You can’t do this; you can’t do this to Yoongi and you need to keep your dignity intact in some way, despite the fact that every fiber of your body compels you to do the opposite. You distract yourself by screwing the lid of your body butter back on. 

“Good girl,” Yoongi coos, causing you to whisk your eyes to the screen in perhaps disbelief, shame or your still pending arousal—you’re not sure. How can you be a good girl when you let another man see something so lewd? How can your boyfriend validate something like that? “One more beer and I’ll be home. Wait for me on the bed. As you are.” 

Naked. 

Heat rushes to your cheeks, to the surface of every part of your skin, dragging away small ounces of shame. You curse, mentally, running a hand down your face. Yoongi downs his drink without taking his gaze off of you, watching your reaction, adds once he swallows, “and don’t touch yourself.” 

And with that, he hangs up. 

The harsh comprehension of what the fuck just happened envelops you in a confining embrace, the precipitately increasing weight of shame now a burden on your shoulders that you just can’t shake off, even when you slink your arms through sleeves of your silky robe and welcome in the summer breeze coming to caress your face on the balcony—even when you burst your lighter to a flame and light up your cigarette, inhaling the smoke that you hoped would rid you of its such uncomfortable hold around you. 

You licked your cum clean under the gape of a guy you don’t know in front of your boyfriend. 

His friend heard the order. Don’t touch yourself. Yoongi didn’t whisper it. Didn’t camouflage his words in any way. Uttered them straight and bare, allowing his friend to hear them, despite the fact he almost fought him then and there for sneaking one glance at your moderately naked form. 

Question marks hover in your mind and the pulse on your clit cries, seemingly knowing the answer. 

Did Yoongi like it as much as you did, the aspect of having an audience? 

The wetness in your heat dribbles out, staining your thighs. You squeeze them together, the drag of your cigarette hard and long, expecting to feel your nerves burn off. You gain no such thing—no relief, no lifting of the burden, just constricting tangles in your tummy, zippy spasms of butterflies going mad, mad, mad. 

Perhaps Yoongi didn’t like it at first until he perceived the auspicious debauched look on your face. Saw the way you didn’t hesitate to oblige him when he told you to stick your finger in your mouth. And perhaps the fact that you didn’t express any signal of discomfort was the key to unfastening the leash on his possessiveness over you. 

What have you done? What have you so selfishly and disgustingly done? 

You hang your head in your hands, the white smoke intertwining with the burden on your shoulders and pressing down harder on you. 

That’s why he let his friend hear the command. Don’t touch yourself. He saw the way you indulged in it, and that awakened his liking for it.

Yoongi lied when he said he’d have one more beer. 

By the time you hear the thunder of his voice, all the roses in your garden have wilted, leaving faded, withered petals in its wake—leaving a path of your internal battle all around the apartment for Yoongi to follow. You’ve paced, your bare feet stepping on them. Tried to untangle yourself from the incarceration of your mind by chain-smoking, but to no avail. The only change that took place in your body was the decline of your shame, for you couldn’t help but imagine what could have happened, had you let free rein to your desire—had those round eyes never looked at you with such purity. You figured there wasn’t anything bad about letting your imagination be colored like that, and so you sat on your boyfriend’s couch, cigarette switched to a coconut-flavored vape, and dreamed.

You dreamed about those two men being of service to you, right here on the same couch, where they would lay you down and make you squirt over and over again, betting between each other who could make you come the fastest, counting down your orgasms until the number was a mere blur to you. 

The throb on your clit heightened to heavenly levels and when you emerged from your dream, you found yourself being able to breathe—your momentary disappearance tricking your shame into leaving. It was difficult for you not to touch yourself and you opted to adhere to Yoongi’s wish, not risking to feel worse than you already had. 

The war ended, undeterred by the fact you never expected it to. 

Loud swear words roar in Korean. You rise to your feet to open the front door for Yoongi and you discover that he’s not alone at all. 

The same pair of round eyes, the cause of all the ruckus you just departed from, meet yours, hauling you back there with a force. Your mouth falls agape and before you can react any further, Yoongi stumbles into you. You almost topple over, realizing you didn’t care to steal a glance at the state of him, but the male grabs a hold of Yoongi’s jacket and pulls him back. You wish you had tumbled over and the floor had opened up and swallowed you whole. It would have been less embarrassing than to be stuck in this situation. You want to run, you want to scream— 

“He’s drunk out of his own mind,” the male says, his voice deep like the warm wind before a tumultuous storm, fitting just right with the thunder of Yoongi’s intonation, his gaze wandering over the entirety of your shock-stricken face, taking it in; giving you the same attention that fucked you up hours ago. Yoongi begins to mumble something you can’t momentarily focus on, his hands grasping your waist, lips latching onto your neck. No, you cannot for the life of you focus because the man steals you all over again and you hate how easy it is for him to do that, when you’re far from being available. “Don’t ask what made him drink this much.”

Did Yoongi get drunk because he let his friend in on your most intimate moment? 

Humiliated, turned on and angry altogether, a concoction that simply worsens everything, you draw back from your boyfriend. You want to beat at his chest with your fists just to have some sort of relief from blaming him—because if you blame yourself, only doom consumes you. Why did he call you? Or, essentially, why didn’t he step away to take that damned video call? 

“Thanks for walking him home,” you say eventually, your voice smooth, despite the violence of your feelings, despite wanting to say something else entirely. Your first words to him and, wholeheartedly—despite it all, you hope they aren’t last, even if that possibly makes you a despicable person. 

Yoongi’s friend nods. Chews his bottom lip and lowers his gaze to the ground for a split second. You wonder if he feels the need to remove himself from this uncomfortable situation as much as you do because you can’t read anything in that paleness of his countenance. Not a hint of any emotion whatsoever, just blandness of expression, slightly dimmed by the few thick strands of black hair that have fallen from his disheveled, pushed back mullet. As if they did fight after all, perhaps on the way home, or wrestled if Yoongi was being difficult. 

You don’t realize you and the male are just staring at each other until Yoongi places his hand on your cheek, brushing back a wisp of your tresses. Only then do your eyes flick to Yoongi’s and you finally notice him, the gloss in his hooded irises searching and searching for you, the rosy blush on his cheeks, dry parted mouth and the dart of his tongue as he wets it, softening the flecks that have been created there. 

This is it. If you are focused on him, all things are made right—all things that have been stained get purified and dreams get turned into dust. This is the man you’ve fallen for, who puts you before himself and has done so every day since the moment he made you his. You can’t let anyone else get in the way of the home that your relationship has become, you can’t let your feelings flee—

“For the record,” Yoongi’s friend starts, hand massaging circles on the nape of his neck, the leather of his jacket tight around his arm. Your heart jumps and beats against your chest ferociously. “I didn’t see anything, if that helps you sleep better tonight.” 

It’s such a fat lie and you’re about to shake your head, but then he looks at you with such sincere regret that, ultimately, you choose to believe him. Just to keep your peace of mind unscarred. 

Yoongi tightens his hold around your waist, which grounds you, and a small part of you begins to bloom in healing, disseminating little by little across your whole body. 

A healer with big, round eyes. A good man. 

With a swing, Yoongi closes the door but you don’t hear the click. No, the light spills in from the hallway. Your hands reach for the doorknob but Yoongi blocks them and wraps them around his waist while swaying on his feet. He traces the shell of your ear with his lips, his alcohol-reeking breath wafting over you, and softly, you whine his name. Shuffling beyond the door, feet never entirely moving—the male is still standing outside and he hears as Yoongi hums at your call, as the sound grows into a groan at the feeling of being alone with you at last, at the feeling of all that makes you feminine under his hands. He hears your gasp as Yoongi pushes your chest flush to his body, kisses you harshly and cups your bare pussy. Hears the smack of your mouths, the pop once he withdraws, the squelch of your wetness. Hears as Yoongi murmurs, “you been horny, baby? Wet for me, hm?”

It’s those words that make him shut the door for you.

You made Yoongi drink a lot of water. 

And while he downed the glasses, you ordered him Thai food from his phone, which he now devours. You had wanted to change out of your flimsy robe into your plush pajamas, but Yoongi stopped you with a tight grip on your shoulder and with the nastiest puppy eyes he could manage, considering his plastered state, he begged you not to. Informed you that he wanted to fuck you in your little robe and you told him that if he wanted that, he needed to get sober. 

He’s your boyfriend and you trust him, but you don’t feel comfortable having sex with him while he’s wasted and you’re not. It’s a dangerous territory you don’t ever want to cross. 

So, now he eats as quietly as a mouse, feeding you every other bite with his chopsticks, meanwhile you’re jittering your leg with your arms crossed across your chest, mind full of the male who walked him home. Of the way he pulled you under and resurfaced with you soon after. Of the calm peace you feel all over the perimeter of your mind that peculiarly stresses you out. Of what would happen if you voiced your little dream to Yoongi, especially. 

Was it out of the question or would he consider it? 

Your leg jitters harder. 

You want to tell him, badly. Seeing his friend in real life changed fucking everything. If you hadn’t, you would’ve forgotten about it in the days to come. Yoongi would’ve fucked it out of you in most probability. But those eyes… those eyes got under your skin. 

“Stop fidgeting,” Yoongi scolds with his mouth full of food, no hint of slurring. The hot meal and hydration worked a miracle. “You’re making me nervous.” 

He picks up two cut pieces of chicken with his chopsticks and stuffs your mouth, adding a few pieces of vegetables as you’re chewing. Watches you swallow it, noticing how your eyes are focused on nothing in particular on the other side of the room. Tucking his utensils under his palm, he places his hand on your thigh, halting your restless motion. 

You still won’t look at him. Too lost in the overthinking maze, debating whether you should speak or remain quiet about your desire. A strong part of you fears his reaction and the other half is horrified at the possibility of being turned down—

Yoongi takes his hand away. Props it on his cheek. 

“I can see your pussy from here,” he says, licking his lips. “You’ve shaved?” 

You breathe a soft laugh, turning your head to face him, covering yourself with the small fabric. Dark, but tender eyes, void of any glossiness, awake and stirred—amused. Cheeks awash with color. Lips puffy, a dark tinge of red coating them. A sturdy fist on his cheek, the milky jawline underneath. That messy hair, the slicked-back look ruined by the constant rake of his fingers through them, now falling to the side from the middle. That slender body, clad in the night from head to toe—legs outstretched under the table. So fine, so delicious. A beautiful strong man—all yours. Why do you want another one? 

You slide your leg across his thighs and Yoongi slouches in his seat, discarding his chopsticks. 

“I shaved everything,” you respond, cocking your brow at him—a sly invitation for him to feel its smoothness. 

And he does. Runs his hand up and down your skin. Goes as far as lifting your other leg onto his lap, cradling them both, thumb caressing your calf. The movement causes your robe to expose you again and, cursing the fabric, you go to cover yourself, but Yoongi stops you. 

“Don’t bother,” he mutters. “I wanna look at it.” 

You raise your brows altogether, looking up at him. “You wanna look at her?” 

Yoongi smirks. That dangerous tug of one corner of his mouth to the side. Your death, your undoing, the root of your submission to him. “I want to have her at my disposal.”

You gulp and Yoongi catches it, chuckling. Drifts his hand down your calf, to your heel, to the middle of your foot up to your toes. He plays with your pinky. You note the fact he changed the pronoun after you did. 

Your arousal returns at full speed.

“Did that make you wet?” Low, low is his voice—you feel it prodding at your core, thrumming vehemently. 

You blossom like your roses, thoughts put to the side. 

“I’ve been wet this entire time,” you say, zeroing in your gaze on the flick of dimness that whirls past his eyes. “For hours.” 

He makes a sound of pitiful nature. “Poor baby.” Furrows his brows and juts his bottom lip out, making you weak. Lets his hand roam on your thigh. “So you listened? You didn’t touch yourself?” 

You merely nod your head quickly. You were too distressed to give your body the pleasure it sought. Too busy flaring your lungs with the burn of smoke. And you respected his wish enough to keep your hands to yourself. 

Yoongi coos. “Good girl.” 

A flashback—your lips wrapping around your slick-coated finger, Yoongi praising you and… another pair of eyes watching. Chills spread across your arms, your stomach flipping. Thankfully, your shame is kept at bay. It relieves you. 

“Can I feel how wet you are?” 

A sweet, devious smile. “If you can manage to get to her.” 

You press your thighs tightly together. Yoongi looks at you as if you’ve greatly offended him and alas, he turns your chair so you face him head-on. Forces your thighs apart without any strain at all—and there you feel it, the embarrassment of fucking with him, once your pussy is at complete disposal to him just like he wanted. 

“If your pussy wasn’t so pretty, I’d make you regret your words,” he purrs, eyes fixed on your drenched flesh, hands pushing your thighs back until your knees are at level with your shoulders, folds parting with the movement, revealing more of you. Yoongi wets his mouth with his tongue. 

He thumbs your gleaming lips back and forth, collecting your essence, mesmerized by them. Looks at you intently. 

“It wouldn’t hurt to say sorry, though,” he says, narrowing his eyes at you. “Would it?” 

You grin at him. “Sorry, Yoongi.” 

He rubs your swollen clit in slow circles, still with his bedewed thumb, still with his eyes on you. You choke out a moan at the delight permeating through your being. “That’s not the proper way to apologize, now is it?”

You lean your pelvis into his touch, a natural body reaction unfolding. He disapproves. You scrunch your face. “What should I say?” 

Yoongi tuts. “I’m barely touching you and you already forgot your manners?” 

The only answer you emit is an uncouth whine. 

He shakes his head, putting pressure into his circles for a mere beat of time before he slaps your pussy curtly. A vivid spasm of pleasure fills you and you moan. “Needy girl. Don’t I take care of this pussy enough? What’s this behavior?” 

Another whine. A roll of your body, asking for more of his touch. “Spank her again.” 

A cock of his brow. Harsh, stern, evil. His hand remains propped on his thigh, shoulders hunched. “I didn’t hear you say please. You wanna be bad? You want me to make you cry?” 

You know just how much he’s capable of doing that. You shake your head ‘no’. You want gentleness, the kind you saw in his friend’s eyes—

You flutter your own shut to get rid of that thought. Take a deep breath. 

“Spank my pussy again, please.” 

Yoongi massages the apex of your thigh, dangerously close to your cunt, squeezing the flesh every once in a while. 

“Apologize first.” 

“You didn’t tell me how.” 

He clicks his tongue and pinches your folds and your clit between his fingers. You cry out, and then Yoongi gets up to his feet, leaning over you, propping his hand on the back of your chair. He begins to swiftly spank your pussy over and over again. You just jump at every contact, moaning, eyes flicked to his, never breaking apart. Taking it, taking it so well that Yoongi kisses you nastily, licking into your mouth. Then, he grunts. Fingers flat against your clit, he moves them from side to side. Roses, a myriad of them, flood your form with their freshness and dewiness, with their beauty and delectation and you shudder, you scream, you arch your back off of the backrest—

“Say, ‘I’m sorry, Yoongi. I’m such a bad girl that I deserve every spank and I’ll take it until it hurts.” 

Flabbergasted and horny beyond measure, your mouth falls agape. Your brain turns into mush, the pleasure paralyzing you, your sounds now loud and obscene, the roses in you flitting, growing and murmuring. Yoongi adds more pressure to your clit and your eyes sink back into your head, his darkness wafting over to you, seeping into your skin—now completely yours. 

You repeat after him—word for word. With a simper on your face that causes him to scowl at you, as if you dared to toy with your punishment he bestowed upon you. But then, a tongue prods the inside of his cheek and he laughs, taking a hold of his dominant role and making sure you know. He spanks your clit twice in a row, hands lifting to fondle your nipples. 

“Good,” he praises. “You like that, don’t you? Spanks on your pussy?”

You don’t like that softness. Like the personified thunder he is, it is the calm before the storm. It unnerves you, the expectation of what might come next and your disliking of it. Nonetheless, you brim with the craving to have his fingers inside of you. Your hole clenches at that and Yoongi notices, hissing under his breath. The language of the darkness rises on your tongue and you figure that if you let loose, you’ll get your wish fulfilled.

“Yeah, it feels so good—” He pinches your nipples between his knuckles and you mewl, your lashes shaking at the impact, another set of wetness coating your folds. “Please, fuck me with your fi—”

You don’t even get to finish your sentence. Yoongi plunges his middle finger into your heat, cursing at your tightness, at how slippery you are and at the delight of being filled at last, you knit your brows. With his other finger, he traces the outline of your puckered mouth, his breathing hard and ragged. 

“I’ll do anything for that pout of yours, fuck, no matter if you deserve it or not,” he utters, slipping the digit inside. Instinctively, you suck on it and only then does Yoongi begin to pump you slowly. “You just need a little roughness to be good, don’t you?” 

Dumbly, you nod, swirling your tongue around him, but a faint, silenced part of you begs for the gentleness that you know hides somewhere deep inside his chest, never once unfurled during such intimate times. 

You pay it no matter, too fucked out to think. 

When he adds a second finger into your heat, he does the same thing with his other hand. Two fingers in your cunt, two fingers in your mouth. And he fucks you with both until you gag and a light flashes in his eyes—then, he withdraws all together, leaning against the table, his bedewed fingers coming to rest at his hardened length in his pants. 

Roses, opening. Roses, sighing. 

You breathe heavily, needing to finish, needing to have him in your mouth—

“You liked being the center of attention today?” he husks, surveying your whole body, bent in half. 

There it is—the storm. Just what you expected. Cold sweat dribbles down your spine. And it is fear, what you feel, even when you refuse to admit it. Stiff, tempered fear that pervades each and every vein on your body, regarding being possibly degraded, being made feel dirty—regarding, even, tasting the dark wine of his wrath. 

Such a stark, sudden change. 

You don’t want this. You don’t want any of it.

Abruptly, an internal question comes and pokes you in the middle of your forehead.

Will you succumb to it or will you, with the wildly fresh darkness within you, fight against it?

You take a deep breath, and in with the air also follows, with the little rationality you have amidst the sensuality of your lecherous appetite, the decision to take a hold of it all. To take charge. Just like he did.

You shall prioritize yourself. Your feelings, your desires—your roses.

Your choice envelops your fear in bubble wrap. It doesn’t dissipate. And as much as it pains you, you take a mental note of that. 

“I did,” you spit out, angered by the fact you’re afraid of your boyfriend, and so you stand your ground. “It made me so fucking needy and I want more.” 

The relief that hits you almost causes you to weep and you lower your legs to the ground. Not wanting him to see the film of tears clouding your eyes, you avoid his gaze. Yoongi crosses his arms across his chest and clicks his tongue at you, disapproving. 

“Keep your legs where they belong.” 

“No.”

A lift of his brow. He crouches down to your level and cradles your face in his hand, forcing you to look at him. And there he sees, under the waterfall of your hair, your emotions at his disposal. Yoongi studies you, frowns at you and you want to sob, you want to go home. Shame slithers towards your spine like a ghost, and although it keeps a distance, you feel its presence prickling your back. You cover your cleavage. 

“Why are you crying?” Yoongi asks, a silky murmur, eyes flicking between yours. His fingers don’t caress your skin; they merely hold you firmly, making dents in the skin. 

You don’t trust that voice, dismayed by what might lie under. 

“Why did you do that to me?” you ask in return, and it’s a blue fire shooting out, engulfing the room in stifling heat. You catch a glimpse of its sparks in the dimness of his eyes, of how he’s momentarily stricken by it before it folds beneath the shadows.

“You want to get fucked by someone else?” 

A question for a question. 

You swallow down the lump in your throat, caused by your frustration. 

Your devotion to him didn’t let you go as far as to imagine being fucked by his friend while Yoongi watched, but the brief flash of it in your mind is enough incentive for the heat to spill into you, mingling with the darkness, turning you candescent, traveling through you until it finds your core—and there, it stays. There, it finds home. 

The pulse on your clit returns, filling you with abrupt energy. 

There’s something about him coming up with it that makes you unhinged, but you’re so utterly sick of the instability of your feelings. You need it to stop.

“And what if I do?” you retort. “What will you do?” 

Truthfulness, at last.

Yoongi takes in a sharp inhale of breath, and that is the only reaction you receive from him. Nothing else on his face flickers; no wrath, no sliver of jealousy, not one thing. You stare at an empty canvas, ready for you to paint on. And you simply decide that you want to start. 

You push his hand away from your face. Stand up to your feet. But the hardened look he gives you inclines you to sit back down. 

You fight against it. 

Untangling the knot on your robe, you let him see your bare femininity. The perkiness of your breasts, the long dip of your stomach that he likes to pepper kisses on. Yes, you’re aiming for his weakness. 

And you decide to repeat history. 

You reach your hand down, lower and lower while he stares you down, and you collect your glimmering essence. Sinking your finger into your mouth, you make a show of rolling your eyes back and moaning faintly, softly. Your other hand, in the meantime, unbuttons his pants. 

The breath Yoongi inhaled hitches in his throat. 

“Is this not evidence enough?” you purr, dragging down his zipper. “How else am I supposed to show you?” 

You pull his manhood out as you suck on your finger, all while maintaining eye contact. You don’t touch him beyond that. In fact, you withdraw your hand altogether. 

And then, you collect your essence again. 

This time, you smear it across his bottom lip. Yoongi lets you. Your heart thuds, threatening to jump out of your chest. 

“Your actions during the video call told me everything,” you whisper, catching the sliver of wooziness scattering along his narrowed eyes. “And I think you liked it more than me—the thought of sharing me. You can’t hide it. Not when I saw it.” 

Yoongi growls. Then, he surprises you. 

He parts his lips for you. 

And the contact of the pad of your finger with his wet tongue coaxes a string of your dewiness to drip down the side of your thigh. You moan for him. Relieved, fucked up, woozy just the same. Finally, finally, finally. 

You’re in charge. And it feels divine. 

His length twitches against the fabric of his T-shirt. Long, hard, drooling. Such a delight for you—and so you continue. 

“I also think it made you hard. Not just because you called me when I was touching myself, but because your friend was right there beside you,” you purr, your voice a seductive sound of silk—leading him to wrap his lips around your digit. You moan for him, showing him how much you like that. “Isn’t that right, baby?” Your walls clench at the pet name, solely due to the fact that these soft terms of endearment have always been addressed to you, never the other way around. It thrills you. “I’d always be devoted to you, even if he fucked me. I’d look at you the entire time. If that’s what you want. I had a different idea, but yours is just—” you pause, and again you make a show of sighing and rolling your eyes back, “better.” 

A straight hit to his core. A glee for you. 

But you don’t realize how much you fucked up until Yoongi grips your waist and the hold hurts enough that you wince. 

And then—then he manhandles you. 

Lifting you and laying you down on the table, Yoongi spreads your legs. Watches you drip, watches as the satiny fabric follows the movement of your limbs and reveals you in all your entirety. He pulls you closer to him with a sharp tug until you collide with the tops of his thighs. Bends over you. Hovers his lips above yours. You expect him to kiss you—he even angles his head and rubs the side of his nose against yours—but he never does. 

He only leaves you waiting. Leaves you submitted to your empty expectations, taking charge, taking his control back from you. You shiver in anticipation, reaching for him, however he pins your hands down on either side of you. An angel in a rose garden. 

Yoongi chuckles, darkly, his teeth glinting in the yellow light. You fight against his hold, hips rolling against the underside of his length, beckoning him to do something, anything. You merely manage to prolong the thunder of his laughter. 

“One cock isn’t enough for her, so baby wants two,” he spits. That smirk, the crinkles around his eyes—he’s enjoying this. The hint of degradation doesn’t reflect what’s swarming inside of him, doesn’t reflect the face of pleasure coursing down his body. You smile and he scoffs. “I have enough friends for you to choose from in case you want more. I think you’d be stellar at taking three cocks. Four, even, huh? Would you have enough then? One in your tight little virgin ass, two in your cunt, one down your throat?” 

You gulp, frozen, eyes widening. 

Yoongi bites his shiny lips, nudging the tip of his nose against yours. Kisses you once. Begins to rock his hips, his length sliding across your wet fleshiness. The moan that escapes your throat trembles with each delicious motion. 

“You watch too much porn, honey,” he coos, giving you tiny kisses on the mouth. “I’d kill anyone who would come near this pussy. And I’d kill Jungkook, too, if he so much as glanced at her.” 

So that’s his name. You mewl, knitting your brows. That’s his pretty name. The entirety of your form shivers at the discovery, at the pleasure given to your throbbing clit. 

Yoongi pulls back, setting your hands free. 

You prop your elbows on the table, pouting. Yoongi grasps his length, spreads his arousal and begins to jerk himself off. 

“You’re not fucking Jungkook. You’re mine.” He groans, squeezing his tip; your hole clenches. “Rub your clit.” 

Like him, you spread your arousal on your seashell, the arousal long caused by his presence and now the mention of his name—the reason behind your frustration and his, the reason why you’re spread on the dining table, why your boyfriend is hard. You rub your clit from side to side, amused. 

“No,” Yoongi disapproves, knowing you do the motion when you want to prolong the build-up. “Circles. Make yourself come.” 

You change direction, obeying him. A sly grin blossoms on your lips, dark eyes looking up into his, permeating them, permeating into his soul. You pick up the pace, moaning into your expression of elation. 

“Jungkook is such a pretty name,” you provoke and you heighten your sounds in volume and intensity just to piss him off, just to have your way. 

A grunt escapes him, matching your pace. He wraps his fingers around your throat and squeezes. You hum. 

“A pretty name to moan in my opinion.” A layer of sweat coats your body. Yoongi grasps your jawline firmly and your satisfied laughter inches you closer to your orgasm. You feel the hot flashes, roses surrounding you—its tender petals grazing your feverish skin. You give in, watching Yoongi do the same, his mouth in a tight line, hissing and sizzling, an open fire, an open fire you want to be radiated by, burned whole by. “Just imagine him here, watching us. Oh my god, imagine him knowing he’s the reason why you and I are doing this.” 

Yoongi has had enough. 

He pushes you down harshly. Fills your hole to the hilt without letting you adjust, observing himself disappearing inside of you and begins to pound you into the table. The sound of skin slapping, the hard and quick strokes, the ravaged grunts he lets out, the fast change—it all takes your breath away, so much that you can’t, in fact, breathe. He grabs your face and makes you look at him. The dead of the night captured in his features, you absorb it, whining like the brat you are onto his mouth, mingling into your noises your approval, your yes’. 

Swallowing it, he kisses you, keeping his eyes open. “He could never fuck you like this.” 

You laugh. He swallows that, too, moaning. “What if he could?” 

He taps you on the cheek, a warning, giving you an exceptionally hard stroke that causes you to scream. He pauses. Does it again. Over and over—and your screams echo across the room, your own soul slipping out of your body. Petals flutter against you and you’re done for, hanging off the edge. You’re close, so terribly close. Your eyesight blurs and Yoongi pulls out entirely and rams into you. Again and again, abusing your cervix. 

You moan his name, gone—entirely gone. 

“Yes, moan my name like that. Just mine,” he mutters. “Who’s fucking you this good? Who’s gonna make you come?” 

He rams into you more rapidly than before. Your senses leave you until all that you know is Yoongi. His name, his scent, the wholeness of the night encompassing him. 

“You, Yoongi, you. Fuck, I—”

Yoongi laughs maniacally. “Yes, that’s right. That’s my good girl.” 

He rolls his hips, slowing down the coming of your orgasm, owning you. Lets your senses come back to you momentarily. You swallow, your throat dry and you blink, dazed still. Yoongi kisses you, giving you all that he took from you. 

“Who’s only capable of fucking you like this, honey, hm?” he asks, his voice tender and sing-song. “My pretty honey, so fucked out. So out of it.” 

You whine and you don’t control what comes out of you, your body answering for you. “You, Yoongi. You’re fucking me so—so good. I can’t—fuck. You’re the only one.” 

He smiles down at you fondly, kissing your nose, then your lips, parting your mouth and swirling his tongue around yours briefly. Then he withdraws, begins to fuck you again, slowly, reaching to the side for something. 

Once you see his phone in his hand, your heart stops. And when he puts the device to his ear, your throat dries up even more. You suddenly become aware of the silence all around, especially in your chest. You can’t breathe, you can’t blink—

Yoongi jackhammers into you, purposefully luring your loud noises out of you. “My girlfriend wants to fuck you.” 

You gasp, squeezing your eyes shut, the suddenness, the quickness of pleasure you haven’t yet felt piercing you. Fuck hot flashes and petals, you feel a heavy urge of your orgasm closing down on you. 

“She’s so desperate for you, even when I’m fucking the life out of her.” 

You flutter your eyes open to see Yoongi surveying you. You scrunch your face—so close, so fucking close—and then he puts the phone to your ear. Breathing, hard, ragged breathing fills all of your senses and you come. 

It’s an explosion. Roses bursting, their dew soaking you and Yoongi whole and you exit. You exit out of this situation, this world, this universe while your soul remains here with them. Vibrancy, colors so beautiful and sensations so vivid, ardent and fierce. You don’t know what it is you’re feeling or where you are. That is, until Yoongi’s voice yanks you back to planet Earth, back into this world, this situation—back to them. 

“In fact, she just came for you. Squirted.” 

You sob. Overstimulated, rhapsodic, but effulgent. Yes, you emit light and glow. You can see it in Yoongi’s softened eyes. 

“Think about it. No pressure. Just know she won’t shut up about you. I recall her saying your name would be pretty to moan while she played with her pussy. I think it’s only right you fuck it out of her.” 

With that, he hangs up. 

You brim with so many emotions that it numbs you. Happy tears flow out of your tear ducts—and happily, endearingly, Yoongi chortles. You don’t even feel humiliation or shame. On the contrary, you’re ready to come again. 

Yoongi kisses you and the sounds he slips into your mouth divulge how happy he is about this, how pleased he is with himself. 

You pout, burning your eyesight into his. He begins to rut into you. 

“What, you’re not even gonna thank me?” he says, grinning, as if he wasn’t fucking you at all, as if you two were still sitting at the dinner table, conversing. 

You stammer, head empty, silencing yourself and trying again. “What—what made you change your mind?” 

Yoongi places open-mouthed, wet kisses along the bone of your jaw, and there he seals his answer. “I made up my mind the moment you admitted you wanted to be fucked by him, but you wouldn’t shut up about him. I wanted to hear you babble for me. About me. I just had to mess you up to get to that point.” 

You mewl, running your hands through his sweat-slicked hair. Like a cat, he perks up to your touch, lifting his head, angling it. He kisses you, deeply. Kisses your relief. 

“Where are your manners, hm?” he whispers onto your mouth, giving you hard strokes that erase your vocabulary. You want to make him come and so you push against his thrusts, but to no avail. The intensity won’t allow you. 

“Thank you, Yoongi,” you murmur, cradling his face, pecking him, giving him the softest eyes you could muster so you can show him how much it means to you. 

He approves of your effort on bettering your manners and to reward you, he lifts you up and fucks you in the air. Your breasts bounce against the material of his T-shirt, stimulating you and he alters between jackhammering into you and sliding you up and down on his length. Your pussy squelches around his girth, tightening and Yoongi—

Yoongi loses his mind. 

And it’s him who begins to babble when you snap your hips down on him in circles. 

“Just like that, honey, oh fuck. So good, so good for me.” 

He takes it until his sounds grow in volume and you focus so much on his pleasure that you forget about yours. 

But you don’t let him take charge. 

“Let me fuck you, please, Yoongi. I wanna make you come.” 

Just like you, he’s out of it and because of that, because you asked so nicely, he lets you. 

His chest heaves, staccatos of his choked out breaths sail through the room and you can see it on his face that he’s close. Brows furrowed, bottom lip bleeding due to the way he bites hard on it, the way his mouth pops open and his eyes flutter closed. 

You hold onto his neck with your dear life. 

“Look at me,” you demand and swirl your hips in slow circles around his tip. “I want you to look at me when you come.” 

You’re so stunned that he allows you to be in charge, even more when he truly does open his eyes and pierces his gaze into yours. 

“I need to pull out,” he breathes, but you shake your head, snapping your hips down on him harshly.

“No, I want your cum in me. And I want it to be inside of me when Jungkook fucks me.” 

Yoongi grunts and this is it for him. His cock twitches in you, over and over again and then you feel it—the hot, thick ropes of his cum stuffing you full. You’re so mesmerized by the feeling, by the blissfulness evident on his face, by the smoothness between his brows at last that you can’t even milk him dry. You’re frozen, stupefied by his beauty, by his personal rapture and you want to feel it in unity with him. You kiss him. 

It’s him who fucks him cum into you, burying it deep, moaning into your lip lock. 

It’s him who lays you down to your original position and briefly, feebly licks the sheen on your spread lips before devouring your clit. 

It’s him who gives you the fastest orgasm of your life. 

And it’s him who tells you—in the shower—the story of how he almost beat up Jungkook black and blue once he heard him say how pretty you are.

And it’s you who checks up on him. 

“You sure you’re okay with this?” 

You’re stroking his hair in the bed, the duvet heavy and warm around your body and his, the night overflowing into morning—Yoongi, too. 

He’s falling asleep, but still conscious, still here with you, purring. 

“I wouldn’t be waking him up in the middle of the night if I wasn’t,” he whispers, opening his eyes to look at you, to see you enveloped in the extra blanket of the dawn’s rosy light—glowing, throwing the sun off of its throne. “Poor guy just got out of the military and you’ve already rocked his world.” 

You smile, fondly, thumb caressing his temple. Yoongi hums in appreciation. 

“I’m happy for him he’s getting pussy—one that’s mine. Before he enlisted, he spent all his time painting and getting drunk alone,” he pauses in a thought, blinking at the light. “You still want this?” 

You nod, settling into his chest. Yoongi pulls you closer, tucking the duvet into the lines of your form, bringing in comfort and sleepiness. 

“I’ll make sure you have the time of your life. I’ll be here the whole time, taking care of you,” he promises against your hair and you squeeze him. 

“He hasn’t said yes, though. He could turn me down.” 

“I’ve seen the way he looked at you. You have nothing to fear. He’ll come to you like a puppy.” 

Yoongi sinks the promise onto the plane of your forehead and holds you as you drift to sleep. Happy, relieved, steamed off of all the negative things you went through. It evaporates into the dawn—far, far away from you. 

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

BACK to masterlist / READ part two 

[hello-from-nrc-infirmary]

Vern's Hometown: Centennial Celebration

Book 5: Finale

Chapter 3: Sunset

Formal is irrelevant. The firelight gains prominence as daylight fades. More logs are added, allowing smoke to fill the air. The younger children slowly leave for their beds. Others stay, laughing with friends. Their joyful cacophony is almost drowned out by the rambunctious music.

Smoke and ash wisp into shadows. The kaleidoscope of prancing images twirl around them. An illusion of flowers dance underfoot. If any attempted to touch them, they would vanish.

Soot is kicked up with every step. Vern's stained skirts flare out on another spin. It's strange and comforting to have a partner. A familiar dance he can do in the deepest of sleeps now flutters anew with every beat. A few steps bring them back.

Sweat shimmers across their foreheads. The minutes and hours bleed together. One melody into another. An iridescent fish ballet weaves around the dancers. A bubbling laughter spills from Vern. Steel smiles, his own airy laugh joins in.

"What's... so funny?"

The sprite meets his gaze breathlessly, "I'm... really happy."

"Eh?"

Joined hands lift above to spin around. The area around them is barely a blurr. Focus returning to Steel, the sprite tries to calm himself. "I-is he still umm..."

"Yeah, on my six."

"... let's um... not think about him," Vern tries. His head feels light, a mild dizziness buzzes down from it.

".. okay."

He welcomes night's breath cooling his skin like autumn rain. Vern can tell when some musicians would take a break and join back in. A simple rotation, yet easy to get lost in. Forgetting the world is hard, yet indulging in a moment is effortless.

For this bubble in time, emotion vibrates the air. Colorful shapes morph to each beat. It has been too long since his muscles felt like a newborn foal finding it's footing. Who is keeping who from collapsing is unclear. The firm earth underfoot is the only certainty.

A gasp from the onlookers is nearly drowned by the rhythm. A string pulls at his mind. His eyes want to follow, yet a turn blocks his view. His brow creases as he attempts to see behind Steel. "Ver.."

Pink dusts the sprites cheeks. It's only one word, a fraction of his name. The syllables spoken softly warms him. Tearing his focus back to his friend, he tries to stay on his toes.

"Almost," Steel winks, "we have to finish this one."

"Y-yeah," Vern manages a dizzy nod. His amber eyes sting, but not from the smoke. A soothing wave rolls through his veins, easing his tension. He almost misses a familiar, icy crack.

Chapter 4: Dusk

A tight spin jostles his focus. Flashes of magic collide. The music falters as smoke billows through the remaining crowd. Vern squeezes his eyes shut against it. Tucking himself against Steel, he waits for the air to settle. He flinches, as a drop hits his cheek.

"Er.. sorry."

The sprite swears the liquid away. Checking his bandages, he finds an inky substance he's well acquainted with.

"It's alright, I um..." he pauses, ducking as Steel casts another counter spell, "don't mind."

Sparkling green mist flares from Vern's hands. Vines burst from the ground to restrain Victor. "Enough!"

Snowflakes drift around them. Citizens that stayed murmur in uneasy awe. The spring sprite trembles slightly, his muscles begging for rest. "Do you forfeit the challenge?"

There's a rumble underfoot. Stumbling, Vern's spell loosens as spikes of ice shoot out of the dirt. He's tackled. Air is knocked from his lungs despite the cushioned fall.

"You alright? Any injuries?"

Vern slowly blinks up at Steel, gasping while registering the questions. "U-umm... I'm fine... I think..."

"Why," Victor's voice rings out above the chaos, icicles forming in the air around him. "Why do you reject everything I do for you?!"

Ooc// Welcome to the final boss fight.

Tag List: @nrcbookclub @castaway-achlys @nightonthemountain

Songs for the dance:

There's Nothing Holding Me Back by Shawn Mendes

A Bar Song (Tipsy) by Shaboozey

I Don't Wanna Wait by David Guetta & OneRepublic

Roundtable Rival by Lindsey Stirling

Élan by Nightwish

Songs for Everyone vs. Victor:

It Ends Tonight by All-American Rejects

Liar by Jelly Roll

Ready For This by All Good Things

Trophy Hunter by Within Temptation

[nihilityuniverse]

𝟎𝐭𝐡 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 | 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧 𝐈𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐱 𝐅𝐄𝐌! 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

ᴡʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ 𝗦𝗲𝗰𝗿𝗲𝘁 𝗖𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗼𝗿 ᴏꜰ ᴛᴇʏᴠᴀᴛ 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗙𝗶𝗻𝗮𝗹 𝗕𝗼𝘀𝘀.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Story inspired by Acheron's Lore, Power, and Personality...

ENG is not my First language

I do not own Genshin Impact or any of the pictures used.

Do NOT Repost

Story is also available on Wattpad: Chapter 0 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6

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Chapter 0 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 5

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟒

𝐔𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭'𝐬 𝐒𝐤𝐲

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You drift into sleep, and the chaos begins. Memories swirl around you, fragmented and hazy, flashing too quickly for you to grasp. 

Voices echo, overlapping and fading before you can understand them.

"...May the present life shine like gold."

"Further Killing is meaningless."

"...But their death must mean something."

"Death is not the end of life... We will redefine humanity itself."

"...But we all know this world is beyond saving."

"... Despite that, we must become heroes."

You try to focus, but the images shift and blur. Faces you should recognize merge into each other. You hear different voices, yet you are unable to concentrate while the flashing images cross your mind.

A memory flickers: a pink-haired elf in a white dress. This time it's a bit clearer.

You hold her in your arms, blood pouring out of her chest. Her eyes are sad, yet filled with an unspoken warmth. She caresses your cheek, her touch gentle despite her pain. She says something, her lips moving slowly, but the words are lost to you. Then the scene shifts abruptly, the memory distorting.

You find yourself facing a long blue-haired man with piercing blue eyes. He looks at you with intensity, his expression serious. "Y/N, promise me you never forget...-" The memory distorts again, the edges blurring, "...love you."

The images speed up, a kaleidoscope of moments you can't hold on to. They slip through your fingers like sand, leaving only the faintest impressions.

You jolted awake, sitting upright in bed, drenched in cold sweat. Your hand clutched your rapidly beating heart as you gasped for breath. An overwhelming sadness gripped you, manifesting in uncontrollable tears streaming down your face. You let the tears fall freely, unable to stem the tide of emotion.

Confusion clouded your thoughts as fragments of your memories resurfaced, each piece as elusive as mist. You climbed out of bed and paced the room, trying to shake the disorienting sensation. You halted in front of the mirror, compelled to confront your reflection.

Staring back at you were eyes that seemed hollow, devoid of any spark of life, like a puppet's vacant gaze. Your cheeks glistened with the remnants of dried tears, evidence of your inexplicable sorrow.

As you blinked, your reflection shifted.

The reflection showed you with white hair and golden horns. One horn was half-shattered, the broken end dissolving into a sparkling golden mist.

You reached out to touch the mirror, your fingers trembling as they met the cold glass. The reflection stared back with a haunting emptiness that mirrored the void you felt within.

"My MANTIS form? Is this an illusion?" you whispered, barely audible, to yourself.

In the mirror, your reflection stood differently. It wore a white kimono, stained with blood and dirt, its eyes glowing a piercing gold. The reflection seemed more alive than ever, staring back at you with an intensity that made your breath catch.

"Find me,"

The reflection's voice echoed, soft yet commanding, as it leaned closer to the glass.

"Your end... my origin."

Suddenly, the mirror's surface cracked, spiderwebbing outward from where your reflection's hand had pressed against the glass. Startled, you stepped back, eyes wide with disbelief. The reflection flickered and then returned to your current self, leaving only the shattered fragments of glass to catch and distort your image.

You stared at the broken mirror, your face reflected back in jagged pieces, each shard a fragment of a whole that felt lost to you. The encounter left you shaken, the echo of the reflection's voice lingering in your mind.

You draped your coat over your nightgown, pulling it tightly around yourself, and stepped out into the cold night.

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Your heels clicked rhythmically against the cobblestone streets, resonating through the stillness of the night. The air was crisp and biting, carrying the faint scent of the sea.

The moon cast a pale glow over the empty streets, its silver light the only illumination as the city slumbered. You wandered aimlessly, unable to shake the unsettling dream that had stirred your memories.

As you rounded a corner, lost in thought, you nearly collided with someone.

"Sorry!..." A blonde traveler exclaimed, trailing off as his eyes met yours. His expression shifted from apology to shock, and he instinctively took a step back.

You sighed, crossing your arms to ward off the chill. "I'm not going to eat you," you said with a hint of sarcasm. "Couldn't sleep either?"

Aether looked alarmed but quickly relaxed, sensing no threat from you. "I had a nightmare..." he admitted, leaving out the detail that the nightmare involved you.

"A nightmare, hm?" you mused, walking past him and stopping at his side. "The more that weighs on your mind, the more your fears turn into dreamscapes."

Aether glanced at you but remained silent. There was something about you that felt familiar, a sense that beneath your icy exterior lay untold stories. Perhaps, he thought, you had a complex history with Zhongli.

"And you?" he ventured.

You didn't answer directly. Instead, you offered, "Walk with me. Let's forget our problems for a while." You began to walk, your pace slow and deliberate.

Aether hesitated for a moment before falling into step beside you. The two of you strolled through the quiet streets of Liyue Harbor, the silence around you amplifying the noise in your minds. The city's usual bustle was absent, replaced by a serene, almost eerie stillness.

"What a quiet night..." you murmured, your voice soft in the tranquil air. "They say the quieter things are around you, the louder they are in your head. It's true, isn't it?"

You didn't look back at Aether, but you could feel his presence beside you, a silent companion in this nocturnal journey. He nodded in agreement, the sound barely audible.

You halted at the edge of the harbor, where the cold sea breeze caressed your face, carrying with it the scent of salt and the distant, rhythmic murmur of waves.

You clutched your coat tighter around your body, the thin nightgown beneath providing little warmth. The soft rustling of the ocean's surface reminded you of him, a memory as elusive as the shifting tides.

The traveler, Aether, watched you quietly. The moonlight reflecting off the water cast a gentle glow on your face, accentuating your mysterious allure.

To him, you were an enigma. His only encounter with you had been during that tense moment with Zhongli, where you had seemed intimidating. Yet now, in this peaceful setting, you appeared more contemplative and perhaps even kind. He realized he knew almost nothing about you, not even your name.

"Who are you?" he asked, his voice curious but respectful.

You turned to meet his gaze, but before you could respond, the sound of approaching footsteps interrupted the moment.

"Oh? Out for a midnight stroll, are we?"

Childe's voice cut through the night, dripping with suspicion. He approached, eyes narrowed at you.

"Up to no good, perhaps?" His tone was accusatory, a familiar annoyance that you felt in your bones.

You barely knew him, only having seen him briefly at the funeral, yet he seemed to harbor a baseless animosity towards you.

"We're just walking," you replied coolly, meeting his gaze with a calm, unyielding stare. "Neither of us could sleep. There's no need for your baseless accusations."

Aether turned to Childe, sensing the tension. "Childe? What are you doing here?"

Childe's expression shifted slightly as he acknowledged Aether. "Ah, the famous traveler," he remarked, his voice tinged with a mock cheerfulness. "I see you've found your way to her." He glanced back at you with a passive-aggressive look, a mix of irritation and something unreadable.

Aether glanced at you, seeking an explanation, then back at Childe, expecting answers.

"She hasn't told you?" Childe raised an eyebrow, a sly smile playing on his lips. "She's quite infamous among us, actually," he began, his tone laced with amusement.

"Us... Are you one of the Harbingers?" Aether's eyes widened, his body tensing.

The quiet harbor was momentarily disrupted by the rippling tension between you and Childe.

You crossed your arms, your gaze steely. "Childe," your voice was sharp, cutting through the crisp night air like a blade. "Her Royal Majesty sent a personal letter apologizing for your... behavior. I strongly advise you to keep your mouth shut."

Childe's smile widened, a spark of excitement dancing in his eyes. "Or what? You wanna to fight?" He stepped closer, eager for confrontation.

Aether glanced nervously between you and Childe, feeling the intensity of the moment.

Then, in an instant, a Hydro dagger materialized in Childe's hand. With a wild laugh, he lunged at you, his speed blurring as he closed the distance.

The blade aimed for your throat with lethal precision, but before it could touch you, your hand shot up, clamping around his wrist with an iron grip.

In the blink of an eye, you delivered a flurry of punches to his face, each strike landing with brutal efficiency. The world seemed to slow down as you pounded him with lightning-fast blows.

As he reeled from the onslaught, you released his wrist, spinning gracefully before delivering a powerful kick to his abdomen. The impact sent Childe flying, crashing through the air and landing hard against a row of trash cans with a thunderous clatter.

The entire sequence happened in a mere heartbeat. The force of your actions left Aether stunned, the air thick with the intensity of the moment.

He stood in stunned disbelief. One moment, Childe had lunged at you, and in the next, he was sprawled across a pile of trash cans, thoroughly beaten. Had it all happened in the blink of an eye? He turned his gaze to you, realizing with a shiver that you were capable of much more than he had imagined.

"Don't worry, he won't bother us anymore," you said calmly, turning towards Aether, completely composed.

"I doubt he will ever..." Aether muttered, noticing your unruffled demeanor. It was as if the scuffle hadn't even phased you; you weren't even out of breath.

"About your question from before," you continued, meeting his eyes, "I am part of the Fatui and one of the Harbingers. My code-name is Innamorati."

Strangely, Aether didn't feel the usual wariness that came with meeting a Harbinger. Instead, there was a peculiar sense of ease, a feeling that it was better to be on your good side.

"Innamorati... I've never heard that code name before," Aether said, curiosity piqued. "And what about your actual name?"

You sighed, crossing your arms. "You might forget it, so you can call me whatever you like. But my real name is Y/N."

Aether blinked, taken aback. "It's... a beautiful name." He blurted out, then blushed slightly. "I mean... you have the same name as the unknown lady in the story."

You tilted your head, puzzled. "Unknown lady? What story are you talking about?"

Aether suddenly realized his slip. The tale he referred to only mentioned Morax and his two lovers, Guizhong and an unnamed woman, without ever revealing her identity.

"Uh... it's a story about Morax, the Geo Archon, and his two lovers, Guizhong and... um, Y/N, the unknown lady. It also involves Osial being jealous," he explained quickly.

At the mention of Osial, your eyes widened as a memory surfaced, a fragment of a dream featuring a blue-haired man with striking blue eyes. You turned towards the ocean, a sad expression clouding your features.

"Are you alright?" Aether asked, concern evident in his voice.

"It's nothing. I just... have a bad memory. The name Osial... I knew him well... or used to," you murmured. "But I'd rather not talk about it right now."

Aether, both surprised and curious about you, realized it was time to part ways as the night was nearing its end. "If you'd like to hear more about the story, we can meet up tomorrow. And..., good night," he said, a shy smile accompanied by a faint blush on his cheeks.

You were momentarily taken aback, your expression softening. "Thank you."

Then, with a thoughtful pause, you looked him in the eye. "Before you go, may I make a request?" Your tone was serious.

"It may seem strange, perhaps even rude, but I must ask..."

"...Have we met somewhere before?"

The question hung in the air, and Aether's eyes widened in surprise.

After a moment's thought, Aether responded, "Perhaps we have."

A small, knowing chuckle escaped your lips. "My memories often fail me..." you murmured. Stepping closer, you leaned in to whisper in his ear, your breath warm against his skin, "Return safely whence you came... Because a particular Yaksha is following us." You glanced around subtly. "If you feel unsafe, you can follow me."

Aether's eyes widened further, immediately thinking of Xiao. "I'm okay, I know this Yaksha," he whispered back, attempting to reassure you. You gave a slight nod, acknowledging his words.

With a final exchange of goodbyes, you turned and headed back to the hotel Pantalone had reserved entirely for your stay. As you walked away, you remained vigilant, aware of the green-haired Yaksha's presence in the shadows, watching your every move.

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[revasserium]

you

hayato suo; 5,844 words; fluff and angst, semi!dark content, obsessive behavior, stalking, emotional manipulation, stalker!suo,big brother!togame

summary: fool me once, shame on me. fool me twice, shame on you.

a/n: this was written for both @pixelcafe-network's challenge friday prompt (i got the song 'shinunoga e-wa' which... well.) as well as @peachsukii's wonderful horror event! pls proceed with caution!

It is not a healthy obsession.

But obsessions rarely are.

The first time he sees you is through the hazy mist of a Monday morning, walking to school with Sakura and Nirei trailing behind him, bickering about a possible pop quiz in Japanese Literature that afternoon. Suo grins, his fingers laced behind his back as he nods along. He’ll do fine even if there is a pop-quiz. He knows, he knows —

And then, there you are, caught in the glimmer of sunrise, your cheeks brushed pink by rosy-fingered dawn — standing across the street, a tinkling conglomeration of phone charms dangling from your wrist. You’re turned to one side, laughing with someone he can’t quite see — and in that moment, Suo Hayato learns the meaning of the word jealousy.

He thought he had known it before but he knew then that every emotion he’d felt prior to this has been a mere shadow, a weak and straggling imitation of the real thing — curiosity, jealousy, fear, want —

“Suo-san?” Nirei’s voice is an unwanted interruption to his intense study of you, but he has a reputation to upkeep, so he turns and grins.

“Hm?”

“What’re you lookin’ at?” Sakura supplies over Nirei’s hitched hesitation.

Suo turns back towards where you were standing just a second ago, but you’re not there anymore. For a stomach-wrenching moment, he thinks he’s lost you, and he scans the street desperately for the shape of you until — ah — there.

“Who is that?” Suo asks, taking care to keep his voice casual, leaning over to bump Nirei with his shoulder. Nirei goes red at the contact before whipping out his little black booklet and flipping through the pages, clearing his throat.

“She just moved here!” Nirei supplies after announcing your name, “seems like she’s good friends with Togame from —”

“Shishitoren,” Suo finishes, his voice falling flat. His eyes catch on the sweep of your skirt as you casually loop your arm through Togame’s, leaning into his body as he ruffles your hair. Suo wonders, briefly, if he’d have been able to beat Togame had they been paired together in the faceoff and for a second, he resents Sakura for being the one chosen to fight him.

That night, he dreams of the softness of your touch, the tenderness of your palms, warm against his, and the intoxicating sweep of your eyelashes. He dreams of the milky skin of your thighs, of the candy-cane sweetness of your breath when you lean in to whisper something in his ear.

He wakes up sated and tempered, and he resolves to find out everything about you.

And it’s not difficult, not with a friend like Nirei.

You’re a childhood friend of Togame’s, a recent addition to the Shishitoren roster, though you’re not a fighter yourself. You remind him of Kotoha and he can already imagine you quipping back at his good-natured banter, how you’d flick your bangs from across your eyes.

He wanders across the borders on purpose, just to see you, but he’s good enough to stay out of sight. Though, even if he were found out, things between Boufuurin and Shishitoren are good now, aren’t they? There’s no reason he shouldn’t act as liaison, and build some new bridges between the two, is there?

“You were so serious for a while, Jou,” he overhears you say, hidden behind a hedge at a nearby park, his back pressed to the large tree under which you and Togame are, the pair of you on the park bench just beneath it’s shade.

“Was I? Yeah… guess I was. Went through a bad patch there,” Togame’s voice is deep, churning Suo’s stomach till it goes sour. Suo wonders if you like guys like this — all whisky and smoke and lazy Sundays. Somehow, he thinks you’d be more into guys like him —

Guys who would hold your hand like it’s the only thing they were put on this earth to do right. Guys who might kiss you and keep kissing you till he’s sure it’s perfect. He feels a gut-deep hatred of Togame, of the careless way he slings his arm around your shoulders, or the way he reaches out to ruffle your hair, mussing up your bangs.

Suo closes his eyes and leans back against the thick tree trunk and to anyone else, it might’ve looked like napping, or an afternoon meditation session. But in the theatre of Suo’s mind, he can see the way he would comb his fingers through your hair, how he’d treasure each silken tress, how he might press his nose into the crown of your head and breathe in deep — he can almost smell the citrus and coconut scent of your shampoo — he’d seen it when he paused by your house earlier that week.

It had been such an easy thing, and you’re so, so trusting. Leaving your front door unlocked, hurrying out because you were late for an afterschool cram session. Suo had followed you all the way from underneath the train tracks, telling himself that he was only watching out for you, like any good gentleman might do. He couldn’t exactly count on the ruffians from Shishitoren to look out for you — not like he would.

He’d slipped into your small house, easy as pushing through the door. And immediately, he’s caught by the scent of you — the slightly musty smell of wood and tatami mats, the floral, milky scent of your body cream, the damp trail that undoubtedly leads into your bathroom, where you’d just taken a shower (he’s sure; your hair was still wet when you ran out the door). He’d wandered through your house as if walking through a dream, lingering over the plastic wrappers in your garbage, from convenience store sandwiches. He frowns — a girl like you should have a more balanced diet, and he makes a mental note to change that.

He’d gone from room to room, pausing over this and that, tracing his fingers over the corners of your cabinets, the thin wooden railing along the steep flight of stairs leading to the second floor. He’d paused by your bedroom just to take it in — the girlishness of it, the pink bedsheets, patterned with tiny flowers, the stuffed animals toppled one over the other, the indent where you’d probably sat as you dried your hair. It’s not as neat as his own room, but there’s an orderliness that pleases him. He smiles as he notices a pair of discarded sleep shorts, crumpled by the bed; he toys with the idea of picking it up before thinking better of it.

Not now — not yet.

He takes careful stock of your medicine cabinet in your bathroom, memorizes the shampoo and conditioner bottles. He uncaps your favorite bottle of perfume (the one that’s almost finished) and breathes in deep, his senses sizzling within him as he feels his body prickling with heat, a swirling desire crystalizing at the base of his stomach.

Carefully, he unscrews the top and dabs a drop on each of his wrists before capping the bottle and placing it back exactly as it was.

And now, sitting here, listening to you and Togame talk, he feels a deep sense of satisfaction as he pulls a fresh bottle of the perfume from his pocket, turning the little bottle over and over in his palm. He’d found it easily enough, it’s a well-known brand, and not overly expensive.

“Oh — thanks for the fruits, by the way,” you say, “it had all my favorites!”

“Ah… fruits?” Togame asks.

“Mm — the basket that was sitting outside my door… wasn’t it from you? Or maybe Chouji… but anyways, it was nice! I had almost finished the lychee in one sitting — had to stop myself before it gave me a stomach ache.”

You laugh and Suo basks in the sound.

Togame chuckles, though there’s a distinct note of uncertainty that makes Suo’s lips twist.

“You used to eat them until you gave yourself nosebleeds,” he says, and there’s the distinct sounds of a tussle. You yelp, the sound dovetailing into a laugh as the smile slips off Suo’s face. His eyes snap open — he can almost see it, how Togame might reach over to pinch at your cheeks, how you might duck or swat him away.

Suo himself would never be so unruly.

“I gotta get to the bookstore — I’m covering for Momo’s shift today.”

He hears you getting to your feet, Togame following suit. Togame offers to walk you but you decline. And then you separate, each going your own ways. Suo waits till he’s sure you’re both gone before slowly getting to his feet, tucking the bottle of perfume back into his pocket.

The bookshop is a quaint little thing, tucked into a row of storefronts, all family owned and run. He takes a deep breath before ducking in, hitching a pleasant smile onto his face.

“Welcome!” your voice is bright as silver bells, “can I help you find anything today?”

Suo makes a show of looking around, eyes scanning the rows and rows of books, and then the manga section in the back. He points.

“Actually, yes — there’s a manga series that I love and I’m waiting for the next installment.”

You grin, “Sure! What’s the name? We don’t carry a huge stock, but I can definitely check for you!”

Suo delights in the blush that seeps into your cheeks as he mentions the name of your favorite shoujou manga (he’d seen the volumes at your house, the latest volume left open on your bed).

“O-oh! You like that one too?” you ask, your eyes scanning his face, as if this all might be a joke.

“Yeah!” Suo answers, linking his hands behind his back as you round the front table and lead him towards the manga section, “I think the art is nice but mostly, I like the slow development of romance between the two main characters — even though you know from the beginning they’re meant for each other.”

He’d done his homework; it’d taken a few days for him to read through the entire series, but he’d done it. For you, he would’ve done that and more.

You turn towards him, eyes wide and bright and excited.

“Yes! That’s so true! Here — this is the newest one, just came out three days ago —”

Suo takes it, letting his fingers skim by yours, reveling in the way your skin feels against his. Of course, he’s already read the latest volume, but he clutches it to his chest anyway and follows you to the front, content to listen to you chatter about the series and the reasons you love it.

“— just… I know it’s a shoujou series, and the main guy is meant to be lovable but — it’s just so realistic! Like he’s not perfect, but he just wants to do his best to protect the girl, y’know? And it’s so cute —”

Suo nods, reaching into his pocket for some cash.

You flap him away, “You can have that one! Think of it as a bribe — to keep you coming back for the next one,” you say, twin patches of darkness riding high in your cheeks.

Suo schools his expression into a bashful grin, “Are you sure? I can pay — I mean, I’d never turn down a gift from a pretty girl but —”

You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, fiddling with your fingers, “I’m sure! Just… promise you’ll come back when you finish it so we can talk about it, okay?”

Suo nods, curling his fingers into the cover of the book, his heartbeat in his throat.

“Alright then. It’s a date.”

That night, he places the manga volume and the bottle of perfume next to each other on his shelf, leaning back to admire his handiwork. He brings his wrist up to his nose, taking a long breath — it’s not the same, the perfume against his skin as it would be against yours, but it’s enough for now — enough to pretend.

It does not take long after that, not with his frequent visits to the bookshop (he’s long since memorized your work schedule) and the growing friendship between Shishitoren and Boufuurin — it’s almost easy. Too easy.

And you are so perfect, so naive — so easy to manipulate that Suo almost feels bad — almost. When he leans in to kiss you for the first time, the pair of you tucked in the far stacks of the bookstore, him under the guise of helping you reach the upper shelves, he nearly loses himself in the way you gasp against his lips, your fingers curling into the front of his uniform.

He feels the reckless hunger that has been threatening to tear him apart every night since he first saw you that morning across the street coiling up the back of his throat as he curls his fingers into your hair and presses you to him.

When he forces himself to pull away, he’s pleased to find your eyes glassy, your lips dark and kiss-bruised, slick with spit and parted. You’re panting, your chest heaving with the sheer force of the kiss.

Suo leans down to press his forehead to yours.

“Finish your shift… I don’t want to distract you from your work.”

You nearly whine as you bury your face in his chest.

“What if — what if I want you to distract me?”

It’s a horribly cliche thing to say — in fact, Suo is certain that it’s a line lifted straight from your shoujou manga. He swallows down a groan at the thought of pushing you into the back closet and having his way with you then and there but — he reels in his mind and takes a breath, shaking his head.

“Finish your shift first,” he says, playing the part of the ever-considerate boyfriend, “then… I’ve got a present for you.”

He tugs away to press a chaste kiss to your forehead, letting his lips linger, before pulling away completely and bending down to pick up a stack of books that still need to be shelved.

You heave a long sigh, but don’t complain as you follow after him, trying your best to hide a smile that nevertheless pulls at your cheeks.

Outside the bookshop, Suo presents you with the bottle of perfume.

“I know it’s not very expensive but… for some reason, the scent made me think of you,” Suo says, his voice the perfect timber between hopeful and hesitant. You gasp, looking down at the label.

“Hayato! This is my favorite perfume! How… how did you know?”

Suo shrugs, smiling that enigmatic smile of his, “I didn’t — I just… I saw it at the store and thought of you,” he lets the heat flush into his cheeks, pursing his lips in a perfect imitation of bashfulness.

You throw your arms around him and press your lips to his cheek.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you! And I was so close to finishing my own bottle too! Ugh — this is just too perfect!” you sink back to your feet, your arms still looped around his neck.

Suo lets his hands settle around your waist, laughing as you smile up at him. And then — you’re tugging him down by the collar of his uniform, your lips finding his, and all coherent thought leaves him again.

It isn’t till someone coughs that the pair of you pull apart.

“Ah… if it isn’t Suo-san,” Togame’s voice is at once amused and slightly suspicious. Suo peers over your head and shoots him an unassuming grin.

“Togame-san — it’s been a while.”

“Jou… I didn’t know you were coming over today,” you say, ducking your head as you surreptitiously wipe at your lips with the back of your hand.

“I wasn’t, but I found myself in the area so I thought I’d drop by,” Togame’s eyes flicker between you and Suo before settling on you. There’s a curious tick to his eyebrows as you refuse to meet his gaze.

You chew on your bottom lip for a good second before saying, “So… you guys have met before, right?”

Suo nods, “Yep! It was quite a meeting, but I think we all came out of it pretty okay.”

Togame lets out a low chuckle, “Sure. You could say that. How’s Sakura doing?”

Suo shrugs, “He’s fine — but there’s not much that’ll get him down. I heard Tomiyama-san’s doing much better now too.”

Togame bobs his head, tucking his hands into his pockets, “Yeah, he is. Uh listen… I didn’t mean to intrude or anything — just wanted to check in on my uh — friend here —” he jerks his head in your direction, smirking as you blush, looking anywhere but at his face.

“I’m fine Jou — I don’t need you to babysit me.”

“Dunno, you still act plenty like a baby sometimes.”

You pout, eyes flashing as you turn to glare at him. There’s an easy tease in the lilt of Togame’s voice that sets Suo’s teeth on edge. He doesn’t like how close you and Togame are — never have — but he supposes there’s nothing he can do about it. Not right now, at least.

“Okay well we were just leaving —” you say, tugging on Suo’s sleeve.

“Yeah? Where to?” Togame asks, casual as anything, sauntering over to keep pace with the pair of you as you start down the street.

“Uhm��” you start, clearly not having thought this through, but Suo swoops in gallantly, reaching down to lace your fingers through his in a smooth, familiar motion.

“We were going to her place — to watch a movie.”

“Yeah?” Togame peers at you from over the rims of his tinted shades.

“Yeah!” you answer, perking up as you give Suo’s hand a grateful squeeze, “there’s one we’ve been meaning to watch —”

“The Talented Mr. Ripley,” Suo supplies, easy as anything.

You blink up at him, startled, but he only grins. A moment later, you blush, eyes flickering back towards Togame.

“Y-yeah — that one —”

Togame’s gaze ping-pongs between you and Suo, his brows ticking up ever so slightly.

“Yeah… I’ve seen that one — about a guy who pretends to be someone he’s not, right?”

You frown, but Suo squeezes your hand.

“Yep, that’s the one. It’s got a great roster of A-list actors, and the cinematography is really good.”

Togame nods, his eyes settling on you. You lick your lips, nodding along with Suo, flashing Togame a smile that he doesn’t return.

He walks all the way to the end of the street with the pair of you before pausing, cocking his head to watch you turn down the right with Suo at your side. You glance over your shoulder and catch his eyes; there’s a strange glimmer in them that you can’t name but it roils your stomach and makes your heart sputter like a blown out candle in your chest.

You don’t end up watching a movie at yours, but you do laze against Suo’s chest, his fingers threading through your hair as you flip through your favorite volume of your shoujou manga. Suo shifts, his nose pressing into your hair.

“I’ve always loved the scent of your shampoo — you’re almost out though, right?”

You nod absently, “Yeah, I need to buy more…”

You flip another page, and then another. In the intricately drawn manga panels, the protagonist blushes as the male lead traces his fingers along her jawline, tipping her head back for a kiss.

Suo trails deft fingers along your jaw, twisting you around. The manga falls face-down on the worn tatami mat as he covers your lips with his. There’s always been a ferocity to his kisses, but while at the bookshop, he tried to keep his decorum. Here, however, he makes no attempt to mask his hunger, his urgency as he digs his fingers into the skin of your cheek, holding you so tightly you nearly gasp at the sting.

You’re breathless when you pull back, and so is he, his eyes unfocused, his fingers curling into your hair till you wince.

“H-Hayato?” you ask, pressing a palm to his chest.

“Hm?” his single eye flickers wildly over your face, as if desperate to capture the image of you, as if might never be enough just to see you, but to carve you into his memory —

“How… how did you know about my shampoo?” you ask, tilting your head, a tiny frown creasing your forehead.

“What… what do you mean?” he asks, tugging you back down to graze his lips along yours, his words soft and distracted. You groan as he kisses you again, hoisting you up till you’re sitting over his lap, your thighs straddling his.

But you pull back, shaking your head, laughing as he chases you.

“No — I was just — I don’t think I’ve ever told you about my shampoo running low.”

Suo’s frown mirrors your own, his expression one of perfect, innocent confusion.

“Hadn’t you? Maybe I saw it the last time I was in the bathroom.”

You purse your lips, but decide not to think too hard on it. You’d probably mentioned it to him in passing — you’d spent so much time together in the past few weeks. It’s not an impossible thing.

He does so love to listen to you talk, about anything, about everything.

It isn’t till he leaves much later that night that you flick on the light in your bathroom and pull back your shower curtains.

There sit your shampoo and conditioner bottles, lined up along the wall just as they’ve always been. And, just as you remember — the bottles are definitely not see-through.

Little things start to go missing after that — your favorite hair tie, one of your well-used pencils, a single earring, a pair of sleep shorts. Though when you complain to Suo that you seem to be losing more things than usual lately, all he’d done was grin and take you to the shopping center, promising to buy whatever it is that you’d lost.

He helps you pick a new hair tie, a new set of pencils, new earrings that sparkle just as well as the first pair. You blush as he leads you towards the loungewear section, but he presses a reassuring kiss to your temple and tells you that he likes shopping with you — for you.

He whispers against the shell of your ear that he likes the thought of you in things he’s picked out for you.

You shiver at his words, all thoughts about your lost items forgotten.

Togame, though, does not seem to share your optimism about the relationship.

“Dunno — I thought he was alright when I first met him but — even then…” he trails off, casting his eyes up at the light-specked canopy of the large tree you’re both sitting under. You’d wanted to do a picnic before the weather gets too cold for one, and he’d begrudgingly agreed.

You reflect, vaguely, that you’d been seeing less and less of him these days too.

“You’re just mad that I’m spending more time with someone from Boufuurin,” you say with a determined, teasing smile. Togame fixes you with a look over his customary shades, holding your gaze till you flush and look away.

“Yeah. Sure. Maybe.”

You huff, folding your arms, “He’s not that bad! He’s actually really nice to me!”

Togame chuckles, “I believe it, it’s just… nice isn’t exactly the same as good.”

You scowl at him, “What does that even mean?” but something crystalizes in the back of your mind, hardening into a dark speck of suspicion.

You try not to think about it, try not to let it invade your thoughts — but sometimes, when you’re at the bookshop, or even when you’re home alone at night, you’d feel it — the sense that something isn’t right, that someone might be watching you.

But every time you’d turn around, you’d find yourself alone — the bookshop empty, the house quiet, except for the ancient creak of wood and the shuffle of tiny little critters beneath the floorboards.

“Why do we never go to your place?” you ask one day, over steaming bowls of noodles, the wind outside howling something fierce. Suo looks up, blinking.

He swallows his mouthful of ramen and wipes his mouth with pristine, practiced motions.

“Ah — it’s honestly a little embarrassing but… my place is a bit uh —” he shrugs, “a bit messy.”

You frown, “But… you told me that you hated mess. And there was that one time you offered to help me organize the books at the bookstore alphabetically because you said that’s how you organized them at home… right?”

Suo stares, something very much like annoyance flickering behind his eye. But a second later, he lets out a bright laugh.

“No, you’re right! It’s just — it’s not very clean right now — but if you want to see my place, you’re more welcome to see it.”

You nod, trying to convince yourself that you’d been worried for nothing.

“Yeah, I’d love to see it! And you don’t have to clean stuff up for me — I won’t judge you, I promise!” you grin, and lower your eyes back to your own bowl of ramen.

“Sure, you can come over tomorrow if you’d like,” Suo says, watching you slurp at your noodles with an indulgent grin.

You nod, flushing as you almost choke on your mouthful of noodles in your eagerness.

“Y-yeah! I’d love to! We can — we can watch that movie you were talking about.”

“Hm? Which movie?”

“Oh — that one you mentioned to Jou that one time —”

Again, that flicker of something like annoyance, sharp as a knife’s edge, and gone just as quick.

Suo’s smile is impeccable as he calls for the check, “Oh yes — it’s a great movie, one of my favorites. And I think you’ll like it too.”

“Yeah, I’m sure I will! Our tastes are so similar,” you say, grinning as the waiter brings over the check and Suo sets a stack of immaculately folded bills on the table.

“You don’t always have to pay for things, you know,” you say as he laces your hands, the pair of you ducking out into the mid-autumn chill. He reaches out to pull on your collar, adjusting your muffler, tracing the line of your cheek with an affectionate finger.

The muffler, he’d given to you as a gift only two weeks prior, saying that he’d seen it at a sale. It’s your favorite color — but just last week, you’re sure you’d passed by a storefront with the exact same muffler, touting the season’s latest fashions, with a price tag that had made your stomach drop clear out of your body.

You’d convinced yourself that there’s no way he’d spent that kind of money on a gift for you. You’re both still in school — where would he have gotten the cash? Briefly, you consider that he might’ve stolen it.

But you quickly discard that line of thought as well, berating yourself internally for doubting your own boyfriend like this.

“I know,” Suo says, grinning as he leans down for a kiss, “but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to.” And he sounds so earnest, so utterly besotted that you don’t have the heart to doubt anything else.

“You’re too good to me,” you say, shy as the pair of you start on the now familiar walk back to your tiny, two story apartment.

“Banish the notion,” Suo declares, his voice gallant, and you laugh. But he tugs you close to wrap an arm around your middle and press chilly lips to your cold-kissed cheek, “there’s no such thing.”

You flush with a delighted warmth and lean into the comfort of his embrace.

The next day, Suo brings you to his place, just as he’s promised. And just as you’d expected, it’s impeccable to the point of derision. You bite your lips, looking around at the immaculate walls and floors, the perfectly lined shelves, the cupboards stocked and stacked as if by a rather neurotic military sergeant.

“So… I’m guessing you cleaned?” you ask, setting down your bag by the door and toeing off your shoes.

Suo laughs, nodding, “Just a bit, yes.”

“A bit?”

He grins, leading you into the living room, where a tea service is set up and water is already boiling in the kitchen.

“How… what —” you’re at a loss for words as Suo kneels by the low table and washes the tea with the boiling water.

“Can you blame me? It’s my girlfriend’s first visit to my place — I had to make it perfect.”

By the time he puts on the movie, you’re already heavy with an amazing dinner and sleepy with hot tea. You lean against him, drowsing as the movie picks up and a gorgeous, dirty-blond man chats up an equally gorgeous platinum blond woman.

“Mm… which one’s the bathroom?” you ask, your voice sleepy as you totter to your feet.

“Just down the hall — second door to your right,” Suo calls.

You nod as you patter down the dark hallway, keeping one hand on the wall to steady yourself. At the first door, you twist the knob out of reflex, only to find it locked.

Frowning, you twist it again, feeling the old lock jiggling in the door frame.

Suddenly, all hints of drowisness gone, you go still, a strange, vibrating giddiness welling up inside you at the thought of seeing Suo’s bedroom.

Why would he keep it locked? What embarrassing things might you find?

You twist the doorknob slowly, putting pressure on the bottom of the knob till you feel the lock give and the door swings open into a dark, nebulous space. And with one last glance over your shoulder, you slip inside.

The bedroom is small, and neat to the point of sparseness. There’s a writing desk sitting beneath a small window, and a small bookcase tucked against the opposite wall, next to a chest of drawers.

There are no posters on the wall, but there does seem to be a map of some sort. And at first, you think it’s one of those artistic print-maps of Tokyo or some bigger city, but as your eyes adjust to the dimness, you notice tiny little flag markers, and streets that are all too familiar.

You creep closer, as if drawn by an invisible string, until you’re almost nose to nose with the map — and seeing it clearly now, your breath deadens inside your chest.

You know these streets because they’re the streets of this city — of your city, and Suo’s as well. But it’s the thin lines that connect a series of tiny flags that makes your chest go cold — spot markers of your house, your cram school, the bookstore you work at, your favorite shops and restaurants, even the park that you and Togame always go to on weekends.

And the thin lines between them — the routes you take, day in and day out, all meticulously mapped.

Dizzy, you spin around, your eyes catching on the bookshelf, where a series of little trinkets sit in succession —

An empty perfume bottle, a volume of shoujou manga, a hair tie, a pencil stub, and a single glimmering earring.

Blood thunders behind your ears as you brace yourself against the writing desk, the wood creaking slightly beneath your palms.

Your eyes catch next on the chest of drawers, and a single article of clothing crumpled, sitting at the very top — a pair of sleep shorts, thin and worn and trimmed in lace.

Yours.

“I thought you needed to use the restroom.”

You jump at the sound of Suo’s voice, soft and calm and unnaturally steady.

You press a hand to your mouth to stifle what would’ve been a scream as Suo steps into the room and closes the door with a snap behind him.

“You know… it’s not very good manners to go into someone’s bedroom without their permission.”

You lick your lips, shaking your head.

“Hayato… what —” but you can’t the words — because there are no words. Instead, you gesture at the strange collection of baubles on his shelves before turning back to motion at the giant map tacked to the wall.

Suo nods, his hands laced behind his back, his expression amiable.

“What… is all this?” he asks, taking a few steps towards you. You scramble back, but find yourself already cornered against his writing desk. He makes no sudden movements, even as you look wildly around for any kind of escape route, your heart battering against your ribs, a scream building just beneath your lungs.

“It’s… a testament, I suppose,” he says, opening his arms, sighing, “to my feelings for you —” he takes a few more steps, closing the distance between you and him in a single, shuddering heartbeat.

His eye glitters almost red in the iridescent darkness.

“Because… don’t you see?” he asks, his voice now nothing more than a whisper as he reaches out to cup your cheek. You go still beneath his touch, as a deer caught beneath the bright beam of a hunter’s light.

“It’s always been you…” he says, crooning the words into your ears as he trails his fingers along the line of your jaw down to your throat, his thumb dipping into the hollow there before his fingers dig themselves into the nape of your neck.

You let out a soft whimper, feeling the hard crescents of his finger nails as they sink into your skin.

“I love you,” he says, his voice smooth as silk and sweet as poison, “and I wanted — no… I needed you to love me too.”

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[locomoqo]

first time for everything

— taehoon seong x reader

details: NSFW under the cut, fem bodied reader, cunnilingus, fingering, p in v, protected, its reader's first time!

A/N: WAHHH HI TO THE ANON WHO REQUESTED THIS (I lost ur rq while editing im so sorry TT) i hope i did ur request right!!! kinda went overboard with this (wc 2.1k lolol) also one down on my list yippee!!

Taehoon isn't known for being expressive. Stoic and cold, he's got the looks and the body, but ask any girl he’s dated before, and they'll tell you he was distant, maybe even an ass. But ever since meeting Hobin and the rest of the group, he’s started to change, little by little. He still keeps up that tough exterior around others, but when he's with you? That facade crumbles, piece by piece, even if he doesn’t want to admit it. He still remembers the first time he met you, and to be honest, he didn’t care much for you back then. But over time, he began searching for your presence in every room he walked into, his hands instinctively seeking yours whenever you were near.

He’s realized something important: he could exist without you, sure, but living without you? That’s something entirely different.

So, he’s been trying—trying to be romantic, to show his affection, just like tonight. It was supposed to be a perfect evening. You and Taehoon had planned a simple night out: dinner, followed by a quiet stroll through the city. The weather was fine when you left, the sky clear, and neither of you bothered checking the forecast.

But, of course, halfway through your walk, the sky darkened ominously. The first raindrop hit Taehoon’s cheek, and before you could even register what was happening, it was pouring. The kind of downpour where even an umbrella wouldn’t have been much help—not that you had one.

His hand found yours as the rain came down in sheets, the cold droplets soaking through your clothes almost immediately. “C’mon, we’ve got to find shelter.” he said as he put his jacket over your head. You both broke into a sprint, your shoes sloshing in the growing puddles, water splattering up your legs as you ran.

After a few minutes of dashing through the rain-soaked streets, you found temporary cover beneath the awning of a small convenience store. The fluorescent lights above buzzed faintly, flickering occasionally as if protesting the weather.

“I don’t think it’s stopping anytime soon,” Taehoon muttered, pulling out his phone from his pocket to check the weather. It was almost as if he had been cursed today because, to his surprise, his phone was dead. You shivered, your wet clothes clinging to your skin like a second, uncomfortable layer.

“So… now what?” you ask, trying to sound optimistic, but even you could hear the weariness in your voice. He scanned the street, brows furrowed. Most places were either closed or looked far too expensive for a short stay. But then his gaze caught something in the distance—a neon pink sign glowing faintly through the mist of rain.

A love hotel.

His gaze drifts over to you, observing your tired and freezing state. His gaze drifts back to the hotel, it’s embarrassing, but you’re both soaked, cold, and honestly exhausted. “...I have an idea.” He hesitantly suggests the idea of staying at the love hotel for the night. You followed his gaze, spotting the hotel’s unmistakable pink glow.

A sigh escaped your lips, half-amused and half-resigned. It wasn’t the kind of place you’d ever imagined staying in, especially not under these circumstances, but you were soaked to the bone, and the idea of a warm, dry room was becoming more appealing by the second.

“Sure I guess we don’t have much of a choice,” you say with a nod, your voice tinged with humor despite the absurdity of it all. With a shrug and a mutual understanding, the two of you dash through the rain once more, making your way towards the hotel entrance.

The lobby was clean but unmistakably catered to a certain type of clientele. Soft, suggestive lighting bathed the room in a warm glow. The hotel clerk barely looked up as you approached, not fazed in the slightest by the soggy couple in front of her. Clearly, she’d seen it all before.

You can’t help but laugh a little at the situation as she handed the keycard to him. “Never thought our first stay at a love hotel would be like this,” you joke, nudging Taehoon with your shoulder. He only grumbles and nudges you back, pocketing the keycard before walking off to go to your room.

“Well… this is cozy,” you said with a small laugh, trying to break the tension. You grabbed one of the complimentary robes from the closet, grateful for something dry to wear. Taehoon did the same, tossing his soaking wet jacket over the back of a chair.

The robe was soft against your skin, warming you almost instantly. You both slipped into the large bed, the thick blankets swallowing you up in their warmth. Despite the slightly awkward circumstances, the room itself was comfortable, and you found yourself relaxing into the plush pillows. The rain outside continued its relentless rhythm, drumming softly against the windows. It was oddly soothing now that you were out of it, tucked away in a cozy room with nothing to do but rest (or at least that’s what you thought).

Taehoon watched you for a moment before he reached out, his hand finding yours under the blankets. He didn’t say anything, just gave your hand a gentle squeeze. The sudden contact has you turning your head to him, “What?” You ask with a small smile, squeezing his hand back. “Nothing.” He says, “You just look pretty in this lighting.” He tucks your hair behind your ear. You giggle at his words, “Is this really the Taehoon Seong I know?” You joke, shuffling under the sheets to get closer to him. 

The space between you narrows, your eyes flickering briefly to his lips. That subtle movement prompts his hand to slide to the back of your head, pulling you in for a kiss. It was meant to be soft, sweet—just a gentle press of lips. But when his leg accidentally grazes against your core, drawing a soft moan from you, he instinctively rolls you onto your back, hovering over you. The kiss deepens, becoming more intense than either of you intended.

He nudges his knee against your heat again, and the needy whine that escapes your lips spurs him on. Your hand guides him to your breast, slipping it beneath the fabric of your robe. His thumb circles the sensitive peak, the kiss growing even deeper, as if testing the limits. Your hands tremble slightly before finding their place on his chest, pressing gently against the warmth of his skin. The lingering kiss stirs something between you, a tension that had been building all night.

You’ve been here before—kissing, touching, letting your hands roam—but tonight feels different. There's an urgency in the way he touches you, a hunger that hasn't surfaced before. His lips trail down your neck, leaving a heated path in their wake. The soft sigh that escapes your mouth only encourages him further, as your body arches into his touch.

“You okay?” he whispers, his voice thick with desire but still filled with care.

You nod, breath catching in your throat as his hand slides your robe open, his thumb grazing the underside of your breast. Meeting his gaze, you see the mix of tenderness and longing in his eyes, and it sends your heart racing.

“Taehoon…” you whisper, and he hums in response. “You know how we’ve never actually...done it before?” you ask, your voice hesitant. Taking a deep breath, you continue, “What if we changed that? Tonight?”

His brow furrows slightly, processing your words. “Are you...sure?”

“Yes.” You nod, your hands tracing the lines of his arms, feeling the muscles tense beneath your fingers. With that, the atmosphere shifts. The kiss becomes hungrier, more insistent, your bodies pressing together as the heat between you both rises. His hands explore your body with newfound confidence, pulling you closer until there’s hardly any space left between you. Anticipation builds, making your pulse race.

A mix of excitement and nervousness washes over you, but it’s overpowered by how much you want this. How much you want him.

Taehoon pulls back for a moment, his hands cradling your face with such gentleness, grounding you amidst the growing intensity. He looks at you like you’re his entire world.

“Are you absolutely sure?” he asks, his eyes searching yours for any hesitation. When you nod again, he stares at you for a moment longer, feeling his restraint slowly breaking.

“We’ll take it slow,” he promises, his voice soft but heavy with desire.

His hand ventures lower, slipping beneath the waistband of your underwear, his long, slender fingers sliding effortlessly against the slickness of your arousal. You bite your lip as he smiles, murmuring, “Already so wet.” He glances at you briefly, then back down at the glistening wetness between your thighs.

Throwing the covers over his head, he adjusts himself on the bed, moving closer to your core. A shiver runs through you as he pulls your underwear down, and a sharp gasp escapes when his tongue traces a slow line between your folds. Instinctively, you want to close your legs, but he holds them apart, his grip firm.

The way he devours you is intoxicating, and you can feel the walls of your cunt clenching around nothing as he thrusts his tongue deeper inside. He knows exactly how it's affecting you—the sounds spilling from your lips make him grind against the bed, chasing some of his own relief.

“T–Taehoon-!” you moan, and that's when he decides to bring his fingers into play. He thrusts them inside you with deliberate, powerful movements, causing your thighs to tremble and your moans to come faster. He hums against your core, the vibration sending waves of pleasure through you. The knot in your stomach tightens with every precise curl of his fingers and the attention his tongue gives your clit.

It's clear this isn’t his first time. You know it’s not. But it’s the first time he’s doing this with genuine intent to please, rather than just seeking a quick release. As you come undone beneath him, he withdraws his fingers slowly, savoring the taste of you. He gives you a moment to catch your breath before leaning up and pressing his lips to yours again. Your hands fumble with his shirt while he works to remove his pants. He breaks the kiss, his gaze shifting to the bedside table.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, confused by the sudden pause. He opens the drawer, pulling out a condom.

“Protection,” he says simply, tearing the packet open with his teeth. You giggle, “You should do that more often.”

“Are you implying we’re going to be doing this more often?” he asks with a smirk, positioning himself at your entrance.

“Well, that depends,” you tease, a playful smile on your lips, “on whether or not you do our first time justice.” Taehoon rolls his eyes but there’s a touch of seriousness in the air. “Just tell me if something doesn’t feel right, okay?” he quietly says, searching your eyes for any hesitation. You take a deep breath, bracing yourself for what’s to come.

Slowly, he eases himself inch by inch into you. You gasp, tears pricking the corners of your eyes as you adjust to his size. He stays still, giving you time to get used to the feeling. “You alright?” he groans, pressing gentle kisses to your face, wiping away your tears. His hand finds yours, fingers interlocking. “M–Mhm,” you manage, squeezing his hand as you exhale shakily. He begins to move, dragging his length out slowly before thrusting back in, drawing a sharp moan from your lips.

“Fuck…” you breathe out, your body trembling as he finds a steady rhythm. He starts slow, not wanting to overwhelm you, but soon his pace quickens. Your soft walls grip him with each stroke, and his breathing grows heavy as you pull at his hair, your nails leaving crescent marks on his skin. The sound of your moans drives him wild, his own deep groans mingling with yours.

“You feel so good, too good,” he grunts, burying his face in your neck, biting and kissing as he continues to move. Your moans fill the room, echoing off the walls as sweat beads on your skin, your head lolling to the side.

“I’m gonna–I’m gonna cum–!” you pant, legs tightening around his waist as you approach your peak. Taehoon’s thrusts become more urgent, “I’ve got you, I’ve got you,” he murmurs, his voice strained with desire.

You let out a loud moan, your body shuddering as the wave of pleasure crashes over you. Taehoon follows soon after, his movements slowing as he cums into the condom, his body finally coming to rest.

“So,” he starts, lifting his head from your neck with a smug grin, “did I do our first time some justice?”

[st4rssky]

The Morning After..

☆ first post kinda nervous.. ☆

The sound of shuffling footsteps in the hallway awoke me. My eyes fluttered open, a small yawn escaping my lips. "Mc..?" I heard my name softly call from beside me. I shifted my gaze to see Levi curled up next to me, his unruly hair a dark halo against the pillow.

His eyes blinked slowly, still heavy with sleep, and I couldn't help but smile at the sight. My gaze traveled down his body; he was wrapped around me, arms snugly holding my middle, our legs intertwined in a comfortable mess of limbs.

I shifted slightly, trying not to disturb him, but he tightened his grip, pulling me closer. The warmth radiating from him felt like a gentle embrace, a cocoon against the cool morning air.

"Did I wake you?" I whispered, my voice barely above a murmur.

He sighed, burying his face deeper into the crook of my neck. "Just a little," he mumbled, his breath warm against my skin.

I gently shifted in his grasp to lay facing him, my hand reaching out to push his messy bangs away from his face. As I brushed his hair aside, I couldn’t help but be captivated by his bright orange eyes, their warmth drawing me in. There was a light dusting of pink on his cheeks, remnants of the sweet conversation we had shared the night before—soft whispers of affection, promises of undying love hanging in the air like a delicate mist.

Lost in thought, I recalled every word, every laugh we exchanged, how the vulnerability between us had deepened with each sentence. A night of video games and anime turned to kisses and hand holding.

Just then, his voice pulled me from my trance. “You’re staring…”

I smirked, my heart fluttering at the way he glanced at me, half-loving and half-embarrassed. “You’re nice to look at,” I replied, matching his peaceful tone.

Levi hid his face in my shoulder, a soft whine escaping his lips. I couldn’t help but laugh, the sound bubbling up despite the situation. “You can’t just say things like that and expect my heart to be okay!” he protested, his voice muffled against me.

I wrapped my arms around him, pulling him closer, feeling the warmth of his body against mine. The mix of his frustration and affection was endearing, and I ran my fingers through his hair, savoring the softness. Gently, I grabbed a fistful to use as leverage, tilting his chin up so our eyes met.

“Look at me,” I urged, my tone teasing yet tender. His bright orange eyes blinked back at me, a mix of exasperation and something softer lurking beneath the surface.

“What do you want?” he huffed, trying to maintain his sulky demeanor, but the corners of his mouth were already betraying him, twitching up in a reluctant smile.

“I want you to realize how much you mean to me,” I said, my voice low and sincere. “You can’t just drop sweet nothings and then hide like this.”

He sighed dramatically but didn’t pull away, his expression shifting from annoyance to something more vulnerable. “It’s just… sometimes I don’t know if I deserve it,” he admitted, his gaze flickering away.

My heart ached at his words. I tugged lightly on his hair, bringing his focus back to me. “You absolutely do,” I said firmly. “Every single word. You’re worth it.”

He searched my eyes, looking for any sign of insincerity, and when he found none, the tension in his shoulders eased. “You really mean that?” he asked, his voice quieter now.

“Of course I do,” I replied, brushing my thumb across his cheek. “You bring so much light into my life, and it’s okay to let that in.”

A small smile broke through the remnants of his earlier frustration, and he leaned into my touch, the warmth of his face contrasting with the cool air around us. “Fine,” he said, feigning reluctance. “I guess I’ll let you keep saying nice things, but only if you promise to deal with the whining.”

“I can handle it,” I chuckled, pulling him even closer, feeling the rhythmic beat of his heart against me. “Just know that I’ll always be here, ready to catch your heart whenever you need me to.”

His gaze softened, and for a moment, we simply held each other in silence, the weight of our unspoken promises hanging in the air, filling the space between us with a warmth that felt like home.

“Levi! Get up, it’s time for breakfast!” Mammon’s voice called from the other side of the door, slicing through the tranquility of our morning. A small frown fell on Levi’s lips, and I could see the reluctance written all over his face.

I moved my hands to cup his face, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath my palms. With a gentle tilt, I pressed my lips against his in a short, sweet kiss, savoring the softness and the lingering taste of sleep.

“Time to start the day,” I murmured against his lips, pulling back slightly to meet his gaze.

“Only cause you're with me.”

[ladybirdswritings]

Pride & Prejudice - Coriolanus {Young} Snow x Reader

Summary: Spending more time with the miserable Mr. Snow, against your will, only proves to you exactly why he is a man you have sworn to loathe for all eternity. Steamy Pride & Prejudice retelling with young snow and you! Alternate universe, au!snow <3

Notes: so happy you all loved the first part — so i guess i’m continuing ahaha. as always, thank u for leaving comments and loves as it keeps me motivated! also, feel free to lmk if you’d like to be added to the tag list <3

two

The mist of September’s end and October’s greeting is a thick, heavy blanket in the air. You only scowl at it as you pick up your tiered skirt from where it drags against emerald moss and dirt. A storm is nearby.

You would melt into this very soil if you could. Become one with the lilacs and peonies if it meant you’d never be prevailed upon to marry again by the force of your mother.

Mama is unwell. As always but, with more fervor now. The dance was most successful for Jane. She and Sejanus have been exchanging kind letters with pomegranate stained kisses garnishing the print. Even so, mama is viciously unhappy.

The cherrywood cabinets slam louder when you pass, and her eyes narrow at any mention of the gathering. Perhaps your behavior was a great embarrassment for her. If only you were as divine as Jane.

The house is lively, far too lively for your liking at this settling hour. Sisters here and sisters there. They busy themselves with the grand piano and awful singing. It isn’t long until one of the twins rushes forward with a sealed envelope clasped tightly in hand.

“Mama! It is for Jane!”

You snatch the paper from her palm, worrisome that she will ruin it with how tightly she squeezes. Beyond this, you are most eager to see the development in your own personal romance novel starring your dearest sister. Mama slaps your hand away in turn, tugging it back into a monstrous grasp that nearly shreds it to minuscule little pieces.

You see the breath halt and dwell comfortably in her throat, unwilling to part or falter. This is most important to her, trivial matter as it is.

So long as Jane is happy…

You gaze on at the girl with petal-pink cheeks and bright eyes — her smile is a thing of beauty and joy at the mere idea that Sejanus Plinth could admire her.

“Mama! What does it say!”

Her hands tremble like hummingbirds now, and your frown stitches itself promptly upon your pretty face. Oh no, he is certain to have changed his mind.

At least he was kind and gentleman enough to inform dear Jane by letter.

That joy, excitement and eagerness once swimming within your mother’s eyes has dissipated to sheer horror.

“When did we receive this?” She whispers, a ghastly and terror laced sound.

“This morning!” One of the twins happily offers, twirling her chocolate ringlet tight enough to knot.

Mama cries out a sound of agony, shoving the paper hard against Jane’s chest — enough so that she stumbles. She is a frantic thing, running round your quaint living space like that of a farm animal who has lost its head.

You are fueled by your own confusion, constricting your mind to only wait upon Jane. She shakily reads the crumbled thing — hesitance becoming her. Her eyes shift then; a look of joy, excitement, fear — then dread.

“What is it?” You whisper, watching as mama mutters nonsense and brushes the collection of scattered breadcrumbs from the countertop — eyes wide as the moon aglow at midnight.

“Mr. Plinth and his sister, alongside Mr. Snow and sir Plinth’s dear — rich uncle, have all planned to meet with us this evening. They’ve taken a carriage, and have made arrangements to arrive by sundown.”

Four pairs of eyes, in perfected unison, glance into the grassy plains where the sun has begun to set.

You do not intend to giggle at the irony, perhaps it is a thing fueled by nerves just as your mother. Yet it floats from your sweet lips like a prayer, slender fingers rushing to suffocate it.

It is undeniably numerous, however. How could it be anything but?

The way your dearest blood all melts at the brim for the gaze of three men whom are only important by cold silver is a thing of great mystery to you, something you do not understand. It is not just mama and Jane and the entirety of your own family however. No, it is all of society. You only wonder what it would be like for a woman to reach beyond the horizon line — to be great. To not be forced upon a man of all creatures to be of true importance.

Mama rushes past, so quickly your hair becomes unruly. She presses her palms firmly against your cheeks — your face piecing together like a swift minnow from the nearby fish pond.

“Oh heavens — if you do even the littlest act so to embarrass me, I am certain to die of great illness. My nerves are far too weak, you must behave for me! Be as sweet Jane is. Sir Plinth’s uncle is of the richest gentleman in Newbury, 5,000 a year! You must converse with him, do it for your dearest mother. Oh! And brush that wild hair from your face, girl. He will think you to be a witch — keep guard at the window.”

Her words are a tangled, knotted mess of all the things you despise. Even whilst tucked away into a place where you do not truly listen, you know well she is asking you to be social for gain of a husband.

You frown, grateful when the headless chicken runs off from you again. Your hand fussses with the wisps rested amongst your forehead — and you obey mama’s orders by sauntering to the creaky old chair that faces the fogged front window.

The fog is a veil, a curtain hiding from you only dread. You are grateful for it now, though it does no good for your locks and tresses. Your eyes dart to the torn book beside you — and you consider disobedience as an alternative to this state. You know well what will happen if you stray, so you do not dare it.

It is an awfully timely and punctual arrival — perhaps ten ticks of the grand, tower clock before the stallion’s snouts peek through the fog. Just as the golden halo sets beyond them.

“Mama!”

You call, but she only waves you away with a busy hand as she continues fussing with the knit table mat. You will not bother it again. You shrink, hiding all but curious eyes behind the lace curtain.

Sejanus is grinning, nervously you think. Then the scowling sister, a small, old creature with a sunken gaze — and the miserable one. They approach, you sink further.

“God Sejanus, smile any more for the poor thing and your pockets will start betraying you.” Grace sneers, voice sewn tightly with disgust at the less fortunate situation your family finds themselves in, glancing around at the quaint, pathetic home. It is as if she believes one breath of hers will cause it to collapse to the soil — to her polished feet.

“Please Grace, she is the prettiest girl I have ever seen. Oh, uncle, her eldest sister is very agreeable as well. Don’t you agree, Snow?”

Oh, he’s asked the cold thing who’s far too proud and rich for a humble party. You’re curious.

“Perfectly tolerable, I suppose. But not pretty enough to tempt me.”

Oh…

Your mischievous, sneaky grin melts into that of a hard line — ample with annoyance. How arrogant of him to say. As if his blonde locks and blue eyes make him any different than the handsome officers that pass by now and then. As if he is some prize. You scowl, Grace’s laugh an unpleasant sound.

Four hard knocks and you are quickly up to your feet.

Mama rushes to you immediately, slapping your hand enough so that it stings greatly and fades the color crimson.

“You were meant to watch! Places, take your stance girls!”

It takes beyond the greatest force to drag your feet to stand beside Jane. Mama checks each forced position anxiously before she tugs the door open wide — with a horrible, eager grin.

“Welcome!”

They trail the moss and dirt onto your oak floors, not bothering to wipe it away on the torn cloth you call a carpet. No need, they believe. The house is pathetic already as it stands. No dirt shall make it any less worthy than it already is.

In unison, a curtsy of greeting becomes all of you. Prim and proper and perfect just as mother groomed you all to be. For preparation of husbands.

Good god, the blonde looks even more dreadful now. Cold eyes darting to the old, harmless hound that chews on a racket ball. He winces at the sight of dust and chipped oak wood furniture surrounding. He looks down upon this place as if it is beneath him.

He far from belongs here.

“Sit, please sit! I’ve already prepared us supper!” Mama practically pushes Sejanus with most nervous palms, and his shadows follow suite.

Though you dream of running through the open door and fading into the mist to never be found again — you obey; sauntering into the archway with tired eyes and reluctant feet.

“My lady…”

Oh.

The short man with bushy brows and coal colored, untamed locks pulls your seat back enough so that you may sit upon it. To your dismay, the miserable one takes place in front of you. His eyes are cast downward to the far from fine silverware laid before him.

“Thank you sir.” You whisper, the chair feeling as though it is determined to suffocate you the longer you sit upon it.

“Oh, Jane — everybody, please meet my uncle, Mr. Casca Highbottom of Bristol.”

You only nod at the grinning old man, and mama rushes back like a midnight breeze through the archway — setting plates filled to the brim with but all of the food left for the entire month. Even so, it remains poor to a gazing eye. Though it matters not how little garnishes the porcelain, for when you catch gaze of miserable Snow pushing his few peas around in disgust, you cannot help but narrow your sight.

How can he be so proud? Certainly, if a humble gathering invited you in for a warm meal in this awful mist — you’d be most grateful for even a singular pea on your plate. Let alone twelve.

Grace laughs at the sight of Snow displeased — placing a soft palm against his knee beneath the cherrywood table. He spares her laugh a glance, and his lip twitches in what appears to be an amused smile. They talk lowly to each other, you notice it from where you peer behind your glass. She must be fond of him what with the way she touches him and leans closer with each word he speaks. You cannot possibly imagine why. Perhaps they are just alike. Rich, rude things.

“So — I dare ask if any suitors captured your heart at the party then?” Grace, she speaks to you now. You snort, ready to offer words of disdain and disgust toward the lot of men and their sweaty palms. Your mother’s cold glare silences you.

“No… they did not.” You mutter in quick defeat.

“Hmm, how dreadful…” it is mock sympathy, noticeable to both you and Jane.

Tension thins to a mere string lacing the table together. Silence blanketing even more so than the mist as worn silverware and mama’s embarsssing tangents erupt in painful harmony. You are grateful for Jane who manages to pry her eyes from Sejanus for a single moment so to save you from mama’s disapproving glare at your silence. She is selling you to the short man, it seems. She has been for the entirety of this meal.

“It is not as though gentlemen do not flock to my dear sister…” Jane starts. “It is simply that she is far too preoccupied with her books to notice them. She is an avid reader, adores her novels you see. She possesses great talents because of it!”

You hoped Jane would be so kind as to avert the attention. Yet it remains stable upon you, the available wife — as cattle with clipped ears. You feel as though you are livestock being powdered and pressed for the market. If the short man is buying, you’d rather be butchered.

He is awkward and stout and his jokes are uncomfortable as they are just rude. He is far from a gentleman and all the reason you deny each hand bestowed to you in the first place. For reason of men like him.

“You write?” Snow inquires.

Those cold, devoid eyes are locked upon you — and despite wishing to send him away to never return so you may be free of his arrogance, you only peer up at his gaze through fanned lashes to see them commanding an answer of you. Awaiting one.

“Occasionally, sir.”

His gaze doesn’t falter, nor does the gaze of Mr. Highbottom, even as he presses a boiled potato to his tongue.

“What of?”

What a silly question, you think. What else would a woman of your age and lack quill about?

It baffles you to find him curious. Perhaps he does not wish to seem obviously rude any more so than he simply is — perhaps he is only creating small talk.

“What else, sir? My thoughts and desires, my ideas. Romance — dramatics…”

“Oh but she just despises poetry!” Mama interjects, as if to end the conversation and refocus it upon your eligibility. Even when she speaks, Snow does not spare her a single glance. His eyes, they still rest upon you.

“You do? I thought poetry to be the food of love.”

You dare a snort then, suffocating a fit of laughter with a spoonful of food. You take your time chewing it, only offering more words when you realize that the conversation does not seem to be at its end. No. It cannot be. Not when he looks at you in a such an expectant manner.

“A poet writes of women in the gaze of all men, which I do not believe to be a true show of adoration. Perhaps it is the food of love — if you want to suffocate it. Stone it till it remains no longer.”

His next words come quick, immediately almost. As if he is grasping at the first chance to reply, much to Highbottom’s dismay whom snaps his mouth shut after losing the opportunity. Every eye in attendance is on the both of you.

Do they think you to be an enigma? You wonder…

“What do you recommend then? To encourage affection between two people…”

You do not know why he asks you this, but you can only assume it is because he wishes to embarrass you. Grace’s sharp gaze morphs into that of an amused smirk. Why would he ask the only woman seated what encourages affection when she cannot obtain it on her own?

You are certain then of his intentions. To mock you in front of Plinth’s sister, his uncle. In front of your blood. He does it so subtlety that if you were not bright as you are — you would most certainly miss it. He is a fool, a great fool because miraculously — you can reciprocate.

“Dancing… even if one’s partner is only tolerable.” You almost sneer with a tilt of your head and raise of your sharp brow.

If something truly clicks within him, it is most quickly dissipated. Most tricky to see. Sejanus clears his throat, and Highbottom — rude creature, erupts into a fit of laughter with a mouthful of food. Your mother is nervous, she joins him.

Grace only gasps, and Jane’s soft features are laced with confusion at the thing only you five are lucky enough to understand.

You remain stoic, challenging his eyes and his tense, twitching jaw with proudness.

“Shall I fetch dessert mama?”

Your mother nods through fits of forced laughter, and you take the opportunity to lift upon your feet. The chair scrapes against the creaky panels and nearly topples as you rush into the quaint kitchen and away from him.

It brings you joy knowing that he has nothing further to say.

You are smiling, terribly overflowed with pride as you place canned, sugared peaches upon ten porcelain plates. How proud he must have felt to speak lowly of you, a girl he spared little words to at a party he refrained from dancing at for it was too poor for his liking.

You disliked him then — but a chat with miss Lucy-Gray Baird while passing by in town confirmed all of your prejudice. She claims to have been treated most coldly by him whilst he was courting her. He offered his hand, then fled into midnight when he grew bored of her. Only the next morning.

He is as any other man is. A heartless hound. His behavior in your small home only further proves your prejudice is with more than enough reason.

You take longer than you should selfishly, and when you return — your gaze locks upon Sejanus who is entirely enamored by the sapphire gaze of Jane.

Mama aids you in placing down the plates you juggle. It is a poor dessert, but one that is most delectable.

“Oh well, your daughter is most precious. Funny, too! How uncommon for women.”

“Oh please uncle, we all have our wit. She is just peculiar, I daresay.”

Mama laughs at Grace’s words, and you only offer a polite, tense smile before being seated once again. It is you now that pushes your food around your plate, fading into the mist truly as you remain silent.

They speak of things you care the least bit for — all irrelevant matters to your mind. You are grateful when wine is poured, you nearly inhale it and garner a slap on your hand once again from mama.

You need it to get thought this.

Highbottom and mama speak of you, she tells him lies. How much you wish to be wed, how eager you are to find a lover. All contradictions of Jane’s earlier lick of truth. The rich fool believes her, his eyes cast upon you like poisonous darts. Slowly suffocating you.

Sejanus is preoccupied entirely by Jane — and the miserable one chats lowly with the scowling sister.

“Well, how about some music and dance? Lizzie, off to the piano!”

Your youngest sister lifts — eager to press her hands against the keys. It will be a mediocre melody but one that offers enough sound so to dance. You wish to stay glued to the table as they leave you to the living space — but mama tugs at your braid harshly, you have no choice other than obedience.

Sejanus kindly offers Jane a hand — and you feel as though you will just sink entirely into the floor as Highbottom approaches. Your heel turns you swift as you try and find even a small bit of space in this little home.

A navy vest with a crimson rose tucked into its pocket cages your escape. You never thought to see the day you’d be grateful for the cold blonde who cuts in front. You nearly collide with him.

“Dance with me.” He commands.

How baffling…

You do not notice the tension settled within your features until your brows ease in confusion. Your chin is pointed upwards — enough so that he can be equal to your gaze.

“Are you asking this of me — or ordering sir?”

His jaw ticks once more, but he does not follow up with any more words. The cleared throat of the short man behind you is enough reason to pick the far less uncomfortable poison. You’d rather be fueled by annoyance as opposed to discomfort and dread. One dance is all.

“Fine.” You mutter, sealing your fate and betraying your swear to be far away from the man whom you loathe entirely.

He is a pale thing up close. Birth marks kissing silken skin, soft as the moss kissing your shoes. You are grateful that this dance does not require touch — only the occasional closeness.

You follow him to where Sejanus and Jane stand — his head nearly reaches your ceiling. His palm hovers over yours, eyes downcast on your pretty features. Grace is scowling, again.

Your fingers twitch as Lizzie begins the sonnet, and you follow his lead.

It surprises you greatly, how well he dances. Though his mouth is a hard line, and his eyes are like round lumps of charred coal. He is noiseless.

“Are we to dance in dread and silence, Mr. Snow? I dare comment on this awful weather, now you may follow with a remark about the food. How much you despised it.”

You catch a glimpse of him, a suppressed twitch of his lips. As if the words offended him. Maybe amused him. You step forward and then back, frayed skirt floating against the movement. He follows suite.

“I could comment on how you dance. I am happy to inform you it is more tasteful than how you cook. Please do advise me on what more you want me to say to you.”

You stumble by his words — and his eyes dart to your clumsy feet. They are stable soon enough, circling him like a shark in vicious waters. His words upset you.

“Mama and Jane prepared the meal. I only prepared the peaches; but I do believe that if a family was kind enough to welcome an abrupt attendance with a warm meal — I would not be so complacent about its contents. You see — we are not all so fortunate to have garnered inheritance, Mr. Snow.” A cold melody, but one he would be a fool to ignore. It is all true.

Now it is him that halts. He steps forward, dipping his head low. Your eyes wander to his gloved palm — it clenches then flexes outward; all evidence of his annoyance with your words.

There you both stand, Sejanus and Jane alongside the twins, mama and Highbottom swirling around you. You do not know where Grace lurks.

You both are still, he stands a tower above you. His eyes pour heat into your own, admonishing you — offended with your words. It is as if the room is only filled with the two of you, the lace of connection between you just your anger. Even in your short time being familiar, it is strong.

“Do you imply that my inheritance is all the reason for my success?” He forces through clenched — perfect teeth.

“Perhaps I do sir, miss Baird of Newbury certainly agree—”

The hand that lays against your side is snatched into his own. He squeezes it tight now, eyes wide and swimming with disapproval and frustration. It has been resting at the surface, but bound to crack.

“Oh I’m certain she does. I am sure she told you the many tales of her troubles and woes brought upon by her time spent with me. You won’t speak to her again.”

It is you that steps forward now, so laced with upset that you do not notice your poor and worn shoes are stepping upon his tip toes. Up upon the rich and shined leather. Your chin is pointed upward, your stance tense.

“You command me as if I am wed to you sir, but I am not. You have come here, unannounced and unhappy with your humble plate as if we are all but a quaint inn with poor maids. Just because we gather little and obscure and we do not have pockets as generous and full as yours does not make us beneath you, Mr. Snow.”

The music halts, and your eyes shift quickly to find a concerned Jane gazing on — alongside your horrified mother. How crazed you both must look now. Stepping upon his toes with palms clasped — anger and upset becoming you both.

You release his gloved hand and part your soft lips to dismiss yourself — yet a strike of lightning cracking from above the grayed sky is a gift given, a distraction from beyond. Yet alongside it? A curse.

The horses startle, lifting to their hind legs before running far and fast with the carriage. Grace cries out from where she sulked in the shadows, and Sejanus alongside his uncle run after the wild beasts. Your sisters and mama follow.

“What are we to do!?”

“Grace, please be calm. We will fetch them.”

“We cannot travel in these conditions, boy.”

“You may rest here!”

Dread is a serpent that wraps tight round your throat — making the pounding of your heart halt entirely.

It is all a blur, but by the end of the lively conversation it is decided. They will stay. They will all stay. You bow your head, crossing your arms round the beating at your chest so to protect it.

“Excuse me.” You whisper, so low it is taken with the breeze from the open door before rushing up your dilapidated steps; knowing full well that the hospitality offered by mama, selfish reasoning or not, is the last thing a man like Mr. Snow deserves…

[try-set-me-on-fire]

Tagged by @eddiebabygirldiaz for seven sentence Sunday! Here’s uhhhhh more than that from a buddietommy vacation threesome fic-

The day is hot enough that Buck is curled up like a bug on the dock between them. He’d stayed in the water longer than Tommy or Eddie had, and had swum out further than either of them, so when he’d crawled back up onto the old wood planks he’d chugged an entire water bottle and promptly passed out. Eddie glances down at his bare torso, just starting to get a little pink.

“Should probably get sunscreen on him again.”

Tommy snorts as he leans backwards, stretching out to grab the spray can. “And you’re worried you’ve forgotten how to be a dad.”

“Fuck off,” Eddie says as Buck, still asleep, makes a similar sound when Tommy mists him all over with cold sunscreen. “It’s been months, man, that’s so long for a kid, who knows what he’s even into now-”

“Minecraft, right?” Tommy says as he smooths his hand over a few places the sunscreen pooled on his boyfriend’s back. “Wasn’t he on a video call with you and Buck about it for like three hours on Friday? Something about- uh- command blocks?”

Eddie is mildly impressed Tommy remembers the word — maybe — because he certainly doesn’t. Buck had only been slightly better at following along than he had as they’d squinted at the probably impressive pixels on the laptop screen. “I don’t know, I just feel like…” Every morning, still, he wakes up and thinks he needs to get Chris’ breakfast started. Whole parts of his being are wired around taking care of his kid, but since he’s been gone Eddie has been trying — in fits and starts and most of the time guiltily — to figure out what the rest of him is for. It’s part of what got him into the whole mess in the first place, chasing after the dreams of a 19 year old who got those dreams from his parents. A nice wife (but they never liked her, did they) and a good job (but firefighting is too dangerous, isn’t it) and a picket fence (one closer to home, Eddie, you’ve gone too far away.) So he owed it to Chris, owed it to himself, to figure out what the fuck he actually wants, so he doesn’t keep twisting himself into knots and taking out everyone around him when the line breaks. He’s not sure he’s any closer to whatever that is — other than it’s unlikely to include a wife of any kind — but in the time he’s taken trying, what if other things got lost in the upheaval? “I keep thinking I’ll just- not remember to do something. Forget how field trip permissions slips work, or not know what shoe size he wears, or- I don’t know. Anything. I won’t pack his lunch and it won’t be the end of the world but he’ll be hungry that day.”

Tommy leans back on his palms and looks across at him, quiet and thoughtful for a few moments in that way he has, like he’s thinking through every possible response before he speaks. He is, maybe; he’d confessed to Eddie that he’d spoken too quickly when he was younger, is embarrassed about a lot of the dumb shit he’d said, so he tries to take his time with his words now. “Eddie. You took us up here this weekend to check and make sure this place is accessible to take your kid to this summer. And- I get that’s a big thing, a big gesture, and maybe you’re worried about messing up the small stuff, but… You’ve still got his favorite kind of jelly in the fridge that nobody else eats. You love him, and he knows that. You’re gonna do fine.” He shrugs. “And he’s almost fourteen, if you forget to hand him lunch he’s gonna let you know.”

Eddie huffs a small laugh. “Yeah, I guess he will.” He groans a little, shaking his head. “Fourteen years old, that’s fucking crazy. I don’t feel old enough for that to be true.”

Tommy rolls his neck so it audibly cracks. “Yeah, yeah, you whippersnapper.”

Eddie grins at him. “You feeling the exercise, old man? Need to go lay down?” He cackles and leans away as Tommy grabs the can and sprays a burst of sunscreen at him.

Between them Buck grunts at the commotion, and rolls towards Eddie. He presses his face into the meat of his bare side above his trunks, and wraps his long arms around his torso. Eddie glances up at Tommy, who just looks fondly amused. “Uh. Wrong guy, there, bud.”

Buck stills, and then pulls back a little to squint up at him. Eddie’s not particularly ticklish, but something like goosebump are shivering across the skin of his stomach where Buck’s forearm rests against him. He has to actively try not to shudder as Buck pulls back and rolls the other way, Eddie watching hypnotized as he gives Tommy the same treatment. Buck presses a little kiss onto Tommy’s hip, in the spot he had just been cuddled into on Eddie, and Eddie’s mouth goes dry.

Tommy lets out a little breath, and Eddie doesn’t think he’ll be able to use the sun as an excuse for how pink he’s gotten as his eyes snap up to the other man’s face. Except- he’d been expecting a raised eyebrow, a flat mouth, some visual indicator of disapproval, that this is one step Buckandeddie too far, that all the rest of their codependent lives have been fine, a platonic kind of care built over years of being there for each other through the worst of the worst, but now the uncomfortable answer to what Eddie wants, the uncomfortable answer he’s been trying to avoid because it's something he cannot have, has been found out and the messy insides of him will have once again ruined something good. But what he finds is a tiny little smile and heavy eyes that-

Well, they don’t look disapproving in the slightest.

“You guys hungry?” Buck mutters, words muffled by Tommy’s skin. “We should go start the grill.”

Tommy’s little smile gets wide and lazy, eyes still stuck on Eddie. “I could eat,” he says.

Tagging @iinryer @shitouttabuck @butchdiaz @chronicowboy @homerforsure @rewritetheending @bigfootsmom if you have anything you want to share!

[nemo-in-wonderland]

ROBYN "HIRAETH" GOODFELLOW | ARCHFEY BARDLOCK | HALF SEA ELF

Name: Robyn Goodfellow

Nickname: Hiraeth. It was her human mother’s name. She took it as her own after returning from the Feywild and uses it as her performing name to honour her memory after having lost her to the whims of time.

Title: “The Silvertongued Saltimbanco”

Alias: Puck (it was the name Oberon used for her during her time in the Feywild. Her Patron grew fond of it and that’s how she is known at the Seelie Court. She doesn’t seem to particularly appreciate it, but she knows better than to contradict either Oberon or Titania).

Age: 33 years old (albeit, she woud be over 150 years old, due to having spent approximately three years in the Feywild, at the Seelie Court, where time flows differently compared to the Material Plane. She was actually born in 1292 DR - Year of the Wandering Waves).

Birthplace: Hiraeth was born in the waters of Deepwater Harbour of Waterdeep, in the sea elf hamlet of T'Quession.

Hometown: Waterdeep, the City of Splendours

Current Residence: Before the events of Baldur’s Gate 3, Hiraeth was travelling around the planes with the Witchlight Carnival, where she performed as Trapezist and Aerial Artist. After the events of Baldur’s Gate 3 and after fulfilling her pact with Oberon, she went back home to Waterdeep with Gale.

Alignment: Chaotic Good

Race: Half-Sea Elf

Class: Archfey Warlock/ Bard

Profession/job: Saltimbanco and Trapezist.

Visual particular traits: Underneath the Fey Glamour she casts upon herself to appear as a normal Elf, Hiraeth hides the scales, fins and gills that would be a dead give away of her sea elven heritage. She is not particularly comfortable in showing them around, at least on the Material Plane. In the Feywild, she doesn’t care as much and goes around without any glamour covering her features.

Scent: Evening Primrose, Pansies, Moonflower and Honeysuckle. Hawtorn as well.

Colours/symbols associated with: The Colour of the Astral Sea; Her flute, carved by Damh himself, twin to his own, from which she never parts ways; the mist in an autumnal forest at dusk; A bush filled with blossoming pansies, in all the shades of blue, violet and pink; the dust that fall of a butterfly’s wings; the beauty of the crushing waves during a storm; the glittering of fireflies all round a meadow;

Languages: Thanks to her time spent in the Feywild and subsequently, travelling with the Witchlight Circus and her own inclination to pick up languages easily, Hiraeth can speak an incredible amount of languages. She is fluent in Sylvan, Faun, Elvish (Sea Elvish) and Common. She is also conversational in Sylph, Merman Language and Selkie and, while travelling with Azriel, Asra and Dorothea, she is learning Infernal and Druidic as well.

Accent?: She retaines no Waterdhavian accent from the small time she spent with her mother and father, before ending up in the Feywild, and her current accent is influenced by Damh’s own. So she generally speaks with a strong Sylvan accent.

Tropes they embody: “Fish out of water”, “The Charmer”, Plucky Comic Relief”, “Eternal Youth”, “The Fair Folk”, “Broken Bird”, “Manic Pixie Dream Girl”, “The Rebel”, “The Eternal Optimist”, “The Trickster”, “Hidden Depth”, “Badass Adorable”, “Beware the Nice Ones”, “Cloud Cuckoo Lander”, “Cute Bruiser”, “Deadpan Snarker”, “Bunny-Ears Lawyer”, “Didn’t think this through”, “Exact Words”, “Obfuscating Insanity”, “Eccentric Artist” “Everyone Calls Him Barkeep”, “Non Sequitur”, “Daddy’s girl”, “Fourth-Wall Observer”, “Cheshire Cat Grin”, “O.O.C. Is Serious Business”, “The Prankster”, “Fey-Driven Talents”, “Undying Loyalty”.

Personality: Charismatic, Enchanting, Imaginative, Assertive, Natural Flair for the Dramatic, Sweet as Sugar, Enthusiastic, Kind Hearted, Mischievous, Witty, Whimsical, Happy-go-lucky, Determinate, Resilient, Spontaneous, Eccentric, Fey-Touched, Thoughtful, Can be apathetic, Far too forward, lack any type of filter, uncautious, erratic, disorganized, sometimes she appears detached from reality, as if she was living in two places at the same time. It took Gale a while to realize that it can take a while before she comes back to their reality. Whenever she is “back”, all she could say is that whenever the music of the flutes starts, she has to follow.

Detailed Backstory: Hiraeth - née Robyn Goodfellow - was an Half-Sea Elf, born from the union of her human mother, Hiraeth Dantathur Goodfellow, and a Marel Sea Elf, Aeren Maenenrid, of the noble house Maenenrid, one of the founder family of Mareliar.

Her father was a respected warrior among the Aquatic Elves society, known for his prowess in battle, the merciless ferocity he displayed against the enemies of his people and his utmost devotion to the Goddess Umberlee; her mother, instead, was a kind but spunky human woman and a renowned travelling bard in Waterdeep, known for being able to compose and play the most beautiful songs, dedicated to the Goddess Selune, despite being completely blind.

They met by chance while she was touring in Cormyr with her itinerary band: she was singing in Dragonmere and he happened to listen upon her, while patrolling the shores. There was something in the way that human sang, something in the way her notes would touch part of his heart in a manner unknown even to himself. Before long, Aeren found himself absolutely smitten by her and her singing, and approached her, with all intention of getting to know her. Hiraeth Dantathur, on her end, was also incredibly curious about this suitor of hers, albeit unaware about his maritime persuasion.

Nevertheless, their love soon blossomed over time, and evolved in a forbidden relationship, for Aeren had been promised, in an arranged marriage, and betrothed to another Marel Elf, Nessa Aveantius. Aeren could not bear the thought of giving up his sweet human love, and decided - despite dreading the idea - to travel through dry land and leave the Sea of Fallen Stars behind, heading instead with Hiraeth Dantathur to her hometown, the City of Splendors, Waterdeep.

Here, they would settle down in the harbour, where Aeren would make contact with the local population of Sea Elves and offer his skills and experience as defender of the underwater hamlet of T'Quession, and not long after this, their only daughter, Robyn, was born.

Joyful and mischievous, little Robyn spent more time underwater than she did on land, swimming and diving deep in the harbour, where she would play with the children of the Sea Elves of T’Quession.

Whenever her mother would manage to catch Robyn and actually make her sit still for a little while, she would bring her to the same woods where her father, a druid and acolyte of the Feywild Gods, raised a stone circle and standing stone; there, she would teach Robyn how to play the flute in honour of Damh and Titania, Oberon ad Verenestra, and would talk for hours about all the stories her own papa would tell her about the Feywild.

Fascinated, Robyn would start to look forward to these little moments with her mother, and would start bringing small gifts of food to leave within the stone circle, as an offering to the old Sylvan Gods.

Their happy days, however, would soon come to a close, for Nessa Aveantius, Aeren’s intented, with sorrow at first and then scorn at the news that her future husband would renounce their future life for a human woman, did all in her power to find them and take back the happiness that was stolen from her.

So, one day, five years from Aeren and Hiraeth Dantathur’s arrival at Waterdeep, the assassins sent by Nessa would find the small family and enact the long awaited revenge of the scorned elf-woman.

Aeren fought like a shark, trying to defend both Hiraeth and Robyn, but unprepared as he was, he lost Hiraeth to the assassins’ daggers before he had the chance to even embrace his own trident. Knowing Nessa and her vindictive temper , Aeren knew that the assassins’s aim was not just the woman he had loved, but also the child that they had sired together, so to forever erase the offense brought by his betrayal.

He screamed for little Robyn to run, run, run, as far and as fast as the breeze allowed her, and to never look back, for if she did, she was lost.

Robyn, covered in her mother’s own blood and absolutely terrified in her pain, fled the small cottage, trying to put as much distance between the assassins and herself. She let her feet guide her down the path, drowning in pure terror as she tried to keep the last thoughts of her mother’s life away from her mind.

Back into her mother’s glade, she found her grandfather’s circle of stone, and without looking back, she crossed through the dolmen, and kept running until her legs gave out ad she couldn’t even breathe anymore.

So terrified she was of her pursuers, that she hadn’t even noticed that the forest around her was not the wood that bordered the clearing, and without a second thought, she would find a small cavity in one of the trees nearby, climbing inside and hiding away.

She didn’t remember how long she had spent inside the tree, trembling and whimpering at every single sound, but it was not long before exhaustation would take her and she would fall into a deep, almost impenetrable sleep.

Nightmare after nightmare would followed her through her slumbering, chasing and stalking her like a pack of rabid dogs that would not let her rest, reliving the moment her mother’s eyes - blind from childhood - would truly never see life ever again; recalling her father’s blood running from the wound on his head and his distraught scream of admonishment to run for her life.

Nightmare after nightmare after nightmare that paralyzed Robyn into a spiral of horrors, until gentle music found its way within her mind and quelled some of those atrocities.

When she opened her eyes, trying to figure out where she was, she found a stranger looking at her with curiousity.

He didn’t resemble any man she ever saw in her life: small in stature, with skin the colour of the branches of the tree around her, auburn hair with golden filigree and eyes as dark as a starless night, he appeared to be around the same age as her papa, but at the same time, something about his bearing made him appear as old as the mountains she once read about in one of her mother’s book.

That man was Damh, son of Titania and Oberon and the old Patron God Robyn’s maternal family worshipped when alive.

Without any question, for he had witnessed what had happened to her, he took young Robyn with him, and brought her to the Summer Court, Titania’s domain, where she would reside for the following three years.

Damh would plead his mother to allow him to keep the child around, for her family was among the few that still worshipped him, and a great tragedy had befallen them all. Titania would agree to her son’s wish, moved to profound pity at the predicament the child had found herself into, but she had one condition for her son: to never let the mortal child wander the Summer Court whenever Oberon was around; the Green Lord was not fond of mortals, after Titania’s own tryst with a mortal man a few decades earlier, and she knew that, even if time had passed, he still resented her for it.

And so little Robyn was left under the gentle - if unorthodox- cares of Damh, who treated her with kind compassion and saw in her an acolyte and a student to whom impart the knowledge of the Feywild and of the Sylvan Gods of Old.

The sadness in Robyn’s heart lingered for a while, with her thoughts always leading her back to the Harbour of Waterdeep, where her life had started and finished at the same time. But time and reality in the Feywild was fickle, and soon her memories started to dim. As Damh would often explain to her, whenever she asked why she couldn’t answer questions about her past anymore, “ The Feywild makes you forget. The longer you linger here, child, the more of you will be lost to the Faerie”.

With forgetfulness, came a quenching of the sorrow that was strangling her heart, and each day that sorrow would relent its grip, leaving Robyn in relative peace, as she followed Damh around from one adventure to the other, exploring all the Feywild far and wild, as she slowly forgot about everything that was “before”.

But the Green Lord, who dominated over the Summer Court, couldn’t be kept oblivious for long, and a fatal day, Robyn, now a child of almost eight years of age, stumbled upon him while looking for Queen Titania and Damh.

As much as the sight of a mortal child walking his Court despite his explicit ban on allowing mortals to enter that sacred ground was enough to anger Oberon, nothing could rival the fury he felt when he discovered that his own son and wife had concealed Robyn from his knowledge.

Knowing that he couldn’t do anything to hurt either Titania nor Damh, Oberon decided to take his revenge onto the child that had dared stroll around his Court, and bound young Robyn into a pact with him: Robyn was tricked by Oberon into giving her name to him, in exchange of powers that altered reality for her victims, leaving her unable to distinguish dreams from reality. Robyn believed that she was agreeing to a harmless promise to bring joy and merriment, after so much sorrow, and to also contribute to protect beautiful dreams, but instead, she was unwittingly caught into Oberon and Titania’s quarrel, born out of Oberon’s jealousy toward the favour his wife had once shown to a mortal through dreams and visions.

Because of this, Robyn’s mind would be perpetually torn between the dream realm and reality, with no way of controlling either in the way she wanted. She would experience vivid, often terrifying dreams of her “victims”, dreams that intruded upon her consciousness, causing her to lose track of time and space and leaving her fractured, as if she her own conscience was divided from her own soul. Her perception of reality was often distorted, leading to experience hallucinations, with sudden mood swings, and uncontrollable bursts of magic that she had no way to predict. She might find herself acting out dreams in reality or slipping into a dream state without warning and her sanity would always be at constant risk as she battled the chaotic thoughts and impulses that bombarded her mind.

Unaware of all the consequences that would come from trading away her name, Robyn would then be sent once more to the Mortal Plane, now carrying the alias of "Puck", but not before Titania bestowed a blessing and a protection upon the young child, to allow her to retain, at least partially, a sense of the reality around her. It was also Titania’s blessing that would put her on the path of a young Gale Dekarios, causing the two to actually become friends.

Gale and Robyn knew each other since childhood, when Morena Dekarios welcomed her in their household for a while. They were close friends, with Robyn being enamoured of the way he practiced Magic and him being absolutely enthralled by her stories of the Feywild and also immensely happy to have someone that looked up to him and didn’t think him bizarre. They would often spend their days together, playing tags around the docks together or putting themselves in trouble, with Robyn being the culprit and instigator, most of the time, sweet Gale always ready to play with her and poor Tara trying her best to look over the two children so that they would not end up in trouble. Sometimes, whenever Gale would ask her to, Robyn would recount about all her adventures in the Feywild with Damh, and all the wondrous places she explored during her time there (something that Morena didn’t truly believe possible, but would always refrain from letting her thoughts known, so not shatter Robyn’s belief).

But, whenever she tried to recount anything connected to Oberon or anything connected to the pact she agreed to as a child, she always felt her mind grow as foggy as an early morning on the Tor that acted as a barrier between the Court of Summer and the Court of Autumn, and could feel her own mind break in two, in the “here” and “there”.

Curious about such predicament, Gale would not hesitate one moment to find his way into Blackstaff Academy and learn whatever he could on the topic, but alas his efforts, albeit commendable, would always result in nothing.

Still, stubborn as ever, Gale would not give up on his friend - on whom he had started to harbour a crush - and promised Robyn that he would find a way to retrieve all her memories.

A year after Robyn had “unofficially” joined the Dekarios household, Robyn and Gale would find their way to the Harbour, busy as they were in , able to only remember glimpses of her life before entering the Feywild, found her way to the old, small sea-side cottage her father had built for their family, and once there, she found it empty, sacked and left at the merciless whims of time.

A small tombstone laid not that farther away, and drawn by it, Robyn found where her mother’s last resting place was. The sight dislodged some of the memories she believed forgotten, with glimpses of what happened on the fatal day when the assassins from her father’s tribe came to bring ruin and devastation.

And it was more than she could bear, as those memories started to cascade without respite. But the memories were not the only thing that brought dread to her heart: the date on the small tombstone had left her bereft, for how was it possible that two hundred years had passed from that day?

She was only nine years old: how could it be?

Confused and terrorized about who she was, what she was, what she had agreed to when she gave her name to Oberon, she felt her mind fractur even more,and before she could stop herself, she started spiraling, which caused her to unleash some of the untamed powers that Oberon gave her.

It wasn’t the first time it happened, but whenever she couldnt’ bridle them in the Feywild, Damh had always been there to help stabilize herself before her outburst of magic could cause havoc.

It was not the case that time, and she ended up hurting Gale, a possibility that had always terrified her ever since she met the sweet boy.

Even more frightened now, she brought Gale back home, where Morena and Tara would tend to his wound, imploring Morena’s forgiveness for what happened, and swearing it had been an accident. The young woman would forgive Robyn, and Gale as well would be all patched up without lasting consequences, but Robyn could not forgive herself.

What would happen if she would spiral again? What would happen if she couldn’t keep her powers under control, now that Damh was not with her?

Invain was the reassurance that all was forgiven and that they would all try to find a way to help her: Robyn felt too dangerous to be around others, especially around Morena, Gale and Tara, that had treated her like one of their own, without ever asking anything from her.

That very night, despite the profound sadness she felt in leaving the people that had welcomed her in their life and gave her a semblance of normalcy, she decided to run away from the Dekarios household, and to run away from Waterdeep entirely, leaving her hometown behind in the hope that, by putting some distance between herself ad her past, she would not spiral anymore and would not cause any more accidents.

Not daring to find her way into the Feywild again for fear that more centuries would pass, she spent a few years as a urchin in Baldur’s Gate, where she would survive from people’s charity, conning the Patriars and dipping into their fat purses.

It was at 13 years of age, while she was busy performing a rather daring move to enter inside one the Patriars’ manor to steal some jewelry - Szarr, was the name - that Robyn was caught by Mr. Witch and Mr. Light, the two proprietors of the Witchlight Carnival, and impressed by the was the girl seemed almost to levitate on air, they offered her a job at their circus.

Robyn - now Hiraeth, in honour of her mother - accepted and became part of the Circus, travelling around the various Planes with the troupe, until that fated day in the year 1492 DR, where she was abducted by a Nautiloid and tadpoled.

Most treasured possession: The charms she carries around her waist: a gift from Damh from her first time she crossed the Fey Crossroad into the Feywild, she carries it with her at all times. It’s what allows her to not age (and die from it) every time she travel from the Feywild to the Material Plane. Another one is an ocarina made out of seashell that she had with her the day she was lead into the Feywild by Damh. It was the only thing that she was able to grab before doing as her father told her to and run for safety. Another possession she has, that she never parts with, is an enchanted lantern that Dorothea gifted her, when they met in Neverwinter. After hearing Hiraeth’s affliction about her “not belonging anywhere”, Dorothea enchanted a lantern for her that would lit up in her hour of needs and lead her to her true home, when in doubts.

Sexual and/or romantic situation: After sharing part of their childhood together, and after reuniting when both of them got tadpoled, Hiraeth fell in love with Gale with such profound sentiment, it finally gave her the resolve -and the hope- that she would be able to get out of her contract with Oberon and would finally be able to be whole once more.

Favourite place: The Court of Under the Stars. Once, as a child, during her residency in the Feywild, Hiraeth and Damh went adventuring together, and Damh managed to sneak them both inside, by traversing the portal that lies where the River Styx touches Yggdrasil. They shouldn’t have had access to the Plane where the Court resides, but Queen Morwel was indebted to Damh, and to return the favour, allowed for them to pass through the portals unscathered and to travel around the realm freely just that one time. Here, Hiraeth experienced something that marked her forever, when she saw the eternal twilight that enveloped The Court. She felt the same peace she felt when looking at the stars and the moon when she was a child, basking in Selune’s embrace. It left her with a sense of peace that she never experienced again.

What makes them happiest: Swimming. Oh, how she adores swimming, feeling the sensation of flying through waters deep and low alike, breaching the surface only to dive back, as a dolphin would do when playing with his brethern. After reuniting with her papa, she is learning to appreciate her Sea Elf heritage more and more, as a way for her to reconnect to that part of her past that she thought lost forever.

What makes them angriest: Hiraeth is an extremely tranquil and unfazed woman, with her head in the clouds more often than not, and it’s incredibly difficult angering her. However, there are few things that make her go absolute insane with ire, her mother’s death being the easiest to trigger her. It took her a remarkable long time to find back all her memories of her and what happened that day, and that her father was not at direct fault, but instead he was the reason that Hiraeth was able to save herself.

Another thing that makes her immensely irate, this time with herself, is how she was so easily coherced into giving away her name - and therefore, her truest self- to Oberon to become his Vassal of Chaos in both the Material Plane and the Dreamscape of Mortals. She will never be able to be called “Robyn” again, never to be able to be one and whole again, long as she doesn’t fullfill her pact with him, and she berates herself every single day for it. Over time, she has come to suspect that this is also one of the reasons why she feels like she is slowly going insane: she exists in two places at the same time, the Feywild, where her truest self exists, and the Material Plane, where she navigates around as “Puck”, an husk and servant to Oberon’s whims. She also suspects that it’s Titania and Damh’s protection that’s helping her not slip further and further away into madness.

What makes them laugh: Damh, of all people. He was always the reason she was able to be safe and sound in the Feywild for so long, as a child, whenever she was scared or lonely, and would always come up with silly ideas to make her laugh and make her forget her troubles. She suspects that he extended his benevolence to her out of guilt for what his father did to her, but she always appreciated his constant attempt to render her days lighter and filled with laughters.

Also, she *loves* to pull all sorts of pranks on people: she lives for it, and she is extremely good at it.

Biggest secret: Her biggest secret is not truly one per se, but rather her biggest shame: while she bears her mother’s name, she has no memory of her at all. As Damh himself would put it “The Feywild makes you forget, and soonern rather than later, all your memories are lost into the mist of time”. And this was exactly what happened to her. She also feels her mind doesn’t work as it should, after the long years she spent in the Feywild under Oberon’s influence and she does her best to hide this behind her eccentric behaviour, albeit, sometimes, she feels herself slipping more into insanity.

Obsession: Getting back her name and her mental sanity. She wants to be able to feel whole again, to not feel fragmented, to be able to recognize what it’s real and what it’s not, what is and not broken in half anymore. She doesn’t know if she will ever be able to obtain the latter, but she knows that only by getting back the former, she will have the confirmation to her doubts.

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Omg am dead and I finally managed to finish Hiraeth's bio FML.

I am so happy to be able to post this on the day that I finished the gameplay as wel, it was so emotional.

I hope you will enjoy this!

--Nemo

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template by @arcandoria; abridged profile template by @lairofsentinel)

[lost-in-the-pink-mist]

You know what we realised we hadn't made yet? Proper character sheets! So we quickly slapped these together

(The original attempt at this post got recovered so here's the rest!)

There are two Foot Clans, the original, run by Tang Shen, and the fake, run by Shredder after he and his followers were cast out

The Caseys are twins! Kay and Cee! They stayed separated for a while, Cee kinda got caught up in the wrong crowd and Kay didn't want to deal with any of that shit. Cee feels bad, and even after she ditches she doesn't reuinite with her brother for a long time. She thought he never wanted to see her again.

The Krang are a hivemind, one mind many bodies

April is half Krang, and it shows. She's a wild child and hates her dad/s so fucking much, mostly because to them she's only a failed experiment, discarded like the ooze they throw out onto the street to see what would happen for a lack of anything more interesting to do with it. April herself is also a baby hivemind, but she has no interest in making more bodies to inhabit to extend her lifespan

Other characters that make frequent appearances are Miwa/Karai, Shinigami, Timothy, Draxum, Big Mama, Mondo, and Mona.

We'll also be seeing Usagi (Miyamoto) in season 2, but that is a WHOLE different story arc, following the adult turtles as they deal with time travel and being new parents (if they weren't already parents. Looking at Donnie here. Not that we don't fucking adore Victoria Shelley Hamato, the little badly timed whoopsie baby)

[cloudshapedpatch]

Burgers and Lilies

Reth x Reader one shot

(canon compliant, no spoilers, ft. Shepp!Hassian)

Rated Teen for some spicy stuff at the end ;)

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Y/N’s hands were steady as she pulled the arrow back, feeling the pull of the bow deep in her shoulder, just like Hassian had taught her. The wind was gentle, rustling her hair and the grass gently as she focused on her prey. She knelt there, still as a tree, lining up the shot. The unsuspecting chapaa wouldn’t feel a thing. 

She heard a rustle in the grass behind her, and the chapaa must have heard it too, because it perked its ears, chirped, and ran in the opposite direction. 

“Sorry.” She heard a sweet voice behind her, and she could never be mad when he sounded so genuinely remorseful. 

“Its okay, Reth.” Y/N lowered the bow and put the arrow back in its holding case with the rest. She stood then, and turned around to face him with a smile. “There are plenty of others.”

Her smile only grew wider as she saw the picnic basket he was holding, and he held it up a little higher as he spoke. “When you didn’t come in for lunch like you usually do, I figured you were lost in the hunt again.”

“I never know how much time has passed when I’m out here.” Y/N said sheepishly. 

“I know. Should we sit?”

“Don’t you have to get back to the Inn? The dinner rush will be starting soon.”

“Ashura told me to take my time.” Reth was already getting comfortable in the grass, so she followed suit and watched him take out the sandwiches carefully. 

Y/N was glad for Reth’s company. Reth had been one of the first people she properly met after materializing in the ruins. She didn’t know much about what was supposed to be normal for humans, but she figured by how Jina, the resident Human Expert, had reacted, it wasn’t normal to appear in a cloud of pink mist and sparkles. At least, that’s not how the Majiri operated. Most of what she had learned about their way of life had come from Reth and his sister, Tish. They had taken a special liking to her almost immediately. 

“Copper for your thoughts?” Reth said, with his mouth full. She smiled at his boyish nature. 

“Just thinking about how much has changed for me since coming here. I’m sure my life before was very different than this.” She could tell this from a number of signs. Her hands had been soft, and her arms lithe when she first came into Kilima. Her body had not known a day’s work like she had grown accustomed to. Y/N’s hands were worn and rough with calluses now, and her muscles, while not much compared to Sifuu, were still visible. And she could run faster and farther and haul sernuk much easier now. She was sure the magic pack Zeki had given her, plus Kilima’s fresh air and pleasant weather was helping as well.

He nodded thoughtfully, considering his words before speaking. “Have you ever thought about what your life was like before? Not just human life in general, but yours specifically?”

She had heard the word ‘memory’ before, and while she was sure she had some memories, they were not the kind Reth was talking about. Like she could remember watering her plants this morning, and she could remember shooting her bow for the first time. But these memories were vivid in her mind, having been so recent. She was told older memories got fuzzy with the passing of time.

“I have.” She said shortly, not feeling like she wanted to get into it. “I really like my life now, though.” 

She leaned over and nudged her shoulder against Reth’s, pushing him slightly. He exaggerated the gesture and dramatically fell back into the grass. She placed her sandwich down on top of the basket and laid next to him and looked at the clouds. 

She could feel an uncomfortableness radiating from Reth, though, like he wanted to say something but was holding back. Turning her head to look at him, she found him already looking at her, and he quickly looked up and away. 

Reth was… something. She wasn’t sure what this feeling was in her chest when he was around. It was different from the feeling of wanting to gossip or craft with Tish, or the feeling of wanting Hassian to be proud of her for hunting a large animal all by herself. It was deeper, and made her anxious, and made her feel warm all at once. 

Like she needed Reth to understand her, deeply, deeper than she knew herself. 

She was sure this was a purely human emotion, because Reth always seemed calm and collected. At least, now he did. When he had first spoken to her, though, he had tripped over his words greatly. 

“When I first met you,” he started, seeming to read her thoughts, “I had never seen a human before. And it surprised me.”

She let that hang there for a moment, feeling like there was something he still wasn’t saying. “What surprised you?”

She was still looking at him but he was none the wiser, his eyes locked on the sky. His cheeks slowly darkened to a magenta color. 

She felt something soft and gentle on her fingers, and upon looking down she found it was Reth’s own hand, slowly sliding in the grass closer to her own. She took in a quiet deep breath to calm herself, even as it felt like pure Flow was shooting up her arm at the contact. She was very confused, but allowed him to take her hand in his and intertwined their fingers. She didn’t understand the purpose of it, and yet she found it was quite pleasant and didn’t want to let go. So she relaxed into the grass, and gave his hand a small squeeze. He reciprocated the gesture, finally turning his head to look at her. He smiled at her then, a wide smile that made her toes curl in her boots and ingrained itself in her mind. His eyes sparkled in a way she had never seen before. 

Y/N looked away first, pointing out a cloud that looked like a star. Reth chuckled and squeezed her hand once more, agreeing with her, before he suddenly gasped and sat up, looking towards the basket. 

“Oh! I brought you something. Caleri waived my late fees so I could bring you this. I’m lucky she likes you so much.”

He handed her half-eaten sandwich to her, which she took another bite of as he opened the basket and produced a book, handing it over. Y/N sat up as well, taking it from him gently. Their hands touched briefly, and a burst of warmth blossomed in her chest. Ignoring it, she studied the strange writing on the worn red cover. It looked like English characters, but it was too worn to make out the words on the cover.

“You found this in the library?”

“I know, right? In the small Human section. I think it’s a cookbook. Look inside.”

She looked at him and shared his excited smile, then opened it to a random page. The pages were old and stuck together, and made a pleasant crackling sound as the spine expanded. Near the middle of the book, at the top of the page, was a full color picture of a cooked dish. It looked odd, it was a stack of bread and what looked like vegetables and meat. The writing at the top of the page read Burger.

Reth peeked over her shoulder, scooting closer to get a better look. Their legs were pressed together as he mouthed out the foreign word.

“Bur-jer.” He said confidently.

Y/N repeated the word. Jina would get a kick out of this. She wondered if she had read this book. She must have, but then again, Jina had never mentioned any human foods before. “I think it’s pronounced ‘bur-gur’, actually. Feels better in my human mouth.”

Reth laughed and threw his hands up. “Hey, you’re the expert. Do you want to try and cook it?”

“But we can barely read the recipe!”

“Won’t it be fun? I’m sure we could figure it out.”

The idea did sound very appealing. She would love to get closer to her roots, and she would never deny spending time with Reth. 

“Let’s do it.”

He nodded, putting a handkerchief between the pages to mark the place.

They sat in the grass and talked a little while longer before Reth announced he had to get back to the Inn, so they packed up and parted ways. 

Back at her housing plot, after Y/N had washed the chapaa meat and furs in a bucket of pond water, she wondered about her odd feelings for Reth, and the tightness in her chest when she thought about him. She stood at her stove, grilling the savory meat and letting the smell fill the air. Sometimes, when she cooked, she felt sad, and wished she was cooking with others. Cooking alone felt deeply wrong to her, and she could not explain why. She let herself feel the sadness, and then let it wash away when she was done, just like Jel had taught her. And by that time the meat had finished cooking. But as she reached to grab a plate (from the set that Elouisa had gifted her) she accidentally hit the hot pan and burned her hand. 

All at once, her mind’s eye was filled with the sight of a kitchen that wasn’t hers. The wallpaper was different, and there were many plants, and more cabinets. A woman whom she had never seen before, and yet felt so familiar, with skin tan like her own, fawned over her. 

“Oh dear, did you burn yourself, button? Come to the sink.”

The woman grabbed her wrist gently and led her to the sink, and turned the handle. Cool water started flowing from what she recollected was called a ‘faucet’. The woman, her mother, put her hand under the cold flow of the water until the burning sensation stopped. 

And then Y/N was standing alone once again, holding her injured hand to her chest. Luckily, her sink basin was already filled with fresh water from the pond, so she submerged her hand in the cool water until the familiar burning stopped once again. 

Was that a memory? Was that what remembering felt like? Her mother looked so similar to herself. She had so many questions, and she knew that no one else would have answers. Suddenly she felt so alone, even in this village of kind people, she felt totally isolated. 

– – – –

The next day felt very weird. After her odd kitchen experience the night before, Y/N had tossed and turned all night and didn’t get a wink of sleep. She ended up chopping many trees to take her mind off it, and after that didn’t help, she figured she would head into town and see if Hassian wanted help filling his meat supply for sale. The hunting in silence seemed to help a bit, and she always enjoyed his company, but every time she pulled back an arrow in the bow, the burn on her hand ached, and she remembered her mother’s face. And after that, she spent some time with Tish and Jel in the square before their shops opened. But as Tish complained of washing her cotton in pond water and finding a tadpole in her fabric later, the memory of the convenience of running water came flooding back. So she spent the day on her housing plot, alone and wallowing, unsure of what to do with herself.

When she didn’t show up for lunch again that day at the Inn, Reth thought at first it was because she was hunting. But after speaking with Hassian and learning she had already been hunting that morning, worry took over. It wasn’t like her to run off without telling someone where she was going. Everyone worried over her, being the only human any of them had ever seen, and having just materialized just a few months ago, the village as a whole didn’t want her to get lost or injured or worse. He couldn’t leave the Inn and go all the way to her house himself, but he could do one better. 

So late that afternoon, Y/N was surprised when she got a knock at her door, and was even more surprised to find Auni at her doorstep with a small paper bag. Usually he just left packages in the mailbox or on her porch, even if she was home, so she found it odd that he knocked. 

“Heya! Reth sent me with some food for ya. Wanted to know where you were.”

She smiled at him. Even though she didn’t feel like smiling, Auni was just a little ray of sunshine, and it was impossible not to be amused in his presence. And it warmed her heart to know Reth was thinking of her. 

“Hey Auni, long time no see. Do you want to come in; I caught a few new bugs I wanna show you.”

He nodded enthusiastically, and when she was done showing him the butterflies and beetles, she sent him on his way with some fresh crab meat for his mother. Now she was left with her lunch (now, she supposed she could call it dinner), some carrot soup. Her favorite. When she was done eating the warm meal, she laid on her bed and smiled, kicking her feet and giggling that Reth would be so kind. 

There were a lot of things she didn’t know, but maybe talking about them would be a good start.

– – – –

“Steady… Steady…” Nai’o hushed to the ormuu, patting it’s head while Y/N knelt beside the large animal, getting ready to milk it. She had never milked an ormuu before, and Nai’o was kind enough to offer to teach her after she had offhandedly expressed her curiosity about it a few sun cycles prior. Delaila even offered to share some of the resulting butter for her work.

He had taught her the hand motions, and once she started, it wasn’t so bad. Nai’o stood and watched and gave her encouragement as the bucket slowly filled with the good milk.

But her mind was elsewhere. Last week she had come around the corner of the City Hall and found him and Kenyatta behind the wall, doing what Tish called ‘sucking face’ but had learned the official word was ‘kissing’. It felt like an intrusion and she had pretended not to see them and had quietly snuck away, but the sight (and the curiosity) had stuck with her. 

“Can I ask you a personal question?” She said, sure to say it loud enough to be heard over the mooing of the ormuu. 

“Go ahead,” he replied instantly.

Y/N felt awkward bringing up the subject, and she wasn’t sure why. But she pushed ahead in the pursuit of answers. 

“When you first met Kenyatta, what did you feel?”

“That’s tough. Kenyatta and I grew up together. We’ve always known each other.”

That made sense, but it wasn’t what she meant. She took a deep breath and turned away from the ormuu for a second to meet his eyes.

“What about when you started dating?” The word ‘dating’ was still new to her, but she had heard Kenyatta use it, so she was sure it applied at least to her and Nai’o.

“Well, when I realized that I had feelings for her, I tried everything to get her attention. I just wanted to spend as much time with her as possible.”

“Had feelings? What did those feel like?”

“Why, are you feeling this way? I wonder who the object of your affections is?” Nai’o teased. 

She blushed, and went back to milking in hopes that Nai’o couldn’t see her dark cheeks. “Affections?” she asked, when she had found her voice. 

Occasionally, the Majiri would say a word that Y/N did not recognise. It felt childish to have to ask what a word’s definition was (even if Y/N couldn’t remember her childhood). She had heard this word before, but not used in this way. 

“Ah, how to explain it…” Nai’o said, mostly to himself as he thought for a moment. “If you have affections for someone, you like them more than you like everyone else. We call it love. It’s different than the love you feel for your parents or siblings or a close friend. You want to spend the rest of your life with that person.”

She thought about this for a moment. She didn’t have parents that she could remember, but Sifuu had joked many times that she had adopted Y/N and was her makeshift mother. And Y/N would do just about anything for Sifuu, so she guessed that was love, in a way. But she certainly did not want to kiss Sifuu. And she felt a camaraderie with Hassian, which Sifuu had also mentioned that Hassian, her Shepp, worried over her like an older brother (Hassian was not thrilled that his mother had mentioned his concerns, much like when he found out she had told Y/N about the poetry). And the mere thought of kissing Hassian made her want to throw up. And she felt proud of him in ways similar to how Tish described feeling over Reth. Now that she thought about it, she figured that Sifuu and Hassian were like her family, similar to the Daiya family. But what did that make Reth?

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with Reth lately,” Nai’o continued when she didn’t say anything. 

She had brought up the subject thinking about Reth, but now felt like she should be doing more for Sifuu and Hassian. But she liked finishing what she started, so she circled back in her mind to her ultimate concern: the weird pressing in her chest when she was with Reth.

“What are you suggesting?”

“I’m suggesting that you want to kiss Reth, don’t you?”

Her words stuck in her throat at his bluntness. Did she? “I don’t know.”

“I know what you can do,” He said, looking very proud of himself, “Go to Zeki’s and buy a box of chocolates. And then give it to Reth. See what he does.” He said with a wide smile, and he leaned down to pick up the now full bucket of milk. Y/N took the cue and followed him into the house, leaving the ormuu with a small pat. 

“I thought chocolates were gifts for married folk only.”

“I give chocolates to Kenyatta all the time, and we aren’t married. Don’t you want to be like her and I?”

Y/N wasn’t exactly sure that she did, as the image of him and Ken with lips locked resurfaced, but she guessed it couldn’t hurt. “Alright, I’ll try it, and let you know.”

He clapped his hands and jumped up, in a demeanor she had never seen on Nai’o. His nosiness surprised her. “Good, tell me all the details. Ken is gonna love this.”

They went into the house and Delaila showed Y/N how the churn worked, and let her try her hand at churning the butter, but ultimately Del sent her on her way with some jam, and promised to have the butter delivered when it was finished. 

– – – –

It wasn’t for many sun cycles that Y/N and Reth could work their schedules around and meet up to try the recipe. Anxiety bubbled in her chest at the thought of what she was going to do, but she also was apprehensive to cook again. After burning her hand, she had avoided her kitchen like it was tainted with the plague. As much as she had relished and replayed the memory of her mother in her head multiple times, she was scared it was going to happen again. Even though she was slowly growing used to recalling such an old memory, having it spring up so suddenly that first time was alarming. 

She had already spoken to Jina about it, and she had urged Y/N to continue trying new things in hopes of triggering another memory to resurface. Y/N wasn’t exactly sure that she wanted that to happen, but maybe she could learn more about her own past, and about what happened to the humans in general. 

So when the time came where Reth was on his way to her home, she was a little out of sorts. The box of chocolates was hidden in a cupboard until the right moment appeared, the ingredients (what she had) for the recipe were laid out on the counter, fresh water in the sink basin, and her home cleaned and reorganized. She had only had time to build two rooms since coming to Kilima, but her living-kitchen-entry was tidy and her bed was made in the next room. Even Eshe would be proud of the decorating. 

After what felt like ages of pacing the floor, finally she heard a knock on her door. Wiping her sweaty hands on the new dress she had bought from Jel for the occasion, she opened the door. 

There he stood, in a crisp blue button-down shirt, a bouquet of heartdrop lilies in hand, and a nervous smile on his face. “Hey, sweet-tooth. Ready to make Majiri food history?”

The sight of him alone was enough to make her swoon, but the flowers were something else entirely. 

“Of course, come in, make yourself at home. Shoes off, please.” Y/N said hoping she masked the nervousness in her voice, and she accepted the flowers from him while he took off his boots. They were beautiful, and she had just bought a new vase the week prior too, so the timing was perfect. “Thank you for the flowers, they’re lovely.”

“Not as lovely as you.” He replied all too quickly, causing Y/N to blush profusely. 

“Thank you.” She whispered, reaching into her cupboard for the vase and filling it with water. The flowers sat pretty on her table for two (she had crafted the second chair just for Reth that day), and the two of them washed their hands in preparation to cook.

“So first the recipe says to make the… the patty? I think it says.” Y/N said, looking at the open cookbook on the counter. 

Reth came up behind her, putting an arm on the counter next to her and looking over her shoulder to attempt to read the book. She blushed at his close proximity. She could feel his breath gently on her neck. 

“Sounds about right. I’ve never ground up meat before. How do you think we should do it?”

“Maybe we should just mince it and hope for the best.” She looked at him and was surprised just how close their faces were to one another. Despite her pounding heart, she liked being close to him. 

“I can do that, easy peasy.” Reth smiled, locking eyes with her. “Where are your kitchen knives?”

“Um… I’ll get one.” Y/N sputtered. She had to get ahold of herself! She should be cool.

It was increasingly hard with the heartdrop lilies on the table, seemingly watching her. 

While Reth minced the chapaa meat, Y/N worked on washing and cutting the tomatoes, lettuce, and onion. The recipe also called for something called ‘cheese’, but neither of them knew what that was, so they decided to just leave it out. They seasoned the minced meat with spice sprouts, wild garlic, and an egg, formed it into round patties, and grilled them on the stove. The recipe was worn over the part talking about the onions, so Reth suggested putting the onions on raw. And they didn’t have any ‘burger buns’, so they made do with hot hound buns instead.

"Hey, Reth, I have some news."

"Oh? Like what?" He asked, flipping one of the burger patties in the pan. She watched the action, and got distracted for a moment watching the muscles in his forearm ripple.

She twiddled her hands in anticipation. "I think I remembered something. About my past life, I mean."

At this, Reth perked up and gave his full attention to her. "Really? What did you remember?"

"It was odd, it just came so suddenly," Y/N started, then backtracked. "I was just cooking last week and burned myself, and I remembered a time when I was younger and had also burned myself while cooking, and my mother had taken me to the sink and run my hand under cold water to relieve the burn."

He thought about it for a moment, then replied, "Do you think you'll remember more things?"

"I don't know. I kind of hope so, but it was a little startling. Maybe next time it won't be as surprising."

He nodded, understanding. He could only sympathize with her since he would never experience losing all his memories and waking up in a strange place, but he was sure this was a new and exciting time for Y/N.

"Thank you for telling me. I hope you get to remember more about your past life."

"Of course, thanks for being here for me. No matter what I remember, though, you'll still be my favorite part of my new life."

Reth blushed at this, and went back to tending the meat in the pan, lest it burn like his cheeks.

The result of their efforts was a little oddly shaped, but upon sitting down to eat, found it was absolutely delicious. They enjoyed their meal together with good conversation, about Tish’s latest creation, Y/N’s new dress (Reth told her she looked absolutely stunning, cause her to nearly choke on her human burger in surprise), and Ashura mentioning something about a raise for Reth. And after, they washed the dishes together, standing too close together, arms touching, laughing and splashing water everywhere. 

It was the best night Y/N had had in a long time. And it was all thanks to Reth. 

“Hey, I’m having such a good time, do you think I could stay a little while longer?” He asked, when the last dish had been dried and put away.

“Of course, I don’t want you to go home yet either.” She admitted. 

“What would you like to do?” He asked, plopping down on the couch and sinking back into the cushions. 

“Actually, I have something for you.” Y/N admitted, feeling nervous and excited. Reth made her feel like she could do anything, and like she was on top of the world, and she hoped her gift would instill similar feelings in him. “But you have to close your eyes.”

He closed his eyes immediately, and her heart leapt at the sight. “Alright, I do love surprises.”

With a wide smile and shaking hands, she carefully pulled out the heart-shaped box of chocolates and sat down on the couch next to him. He sat up as he felt her weight on the couch next to him, and instinctively, she scooched closer to him until their legs were completely pressed together. 

She placed the chocolates on his lap gingerly. “Okay, you can open your eyes now.”

She watched as he opened his eyes, looking down at the box in his lap, then turned to look at her with such boyish joy in his eyes. Nothing could have prepared her for the energy in that room, filled with tension and joy and pure happiness and nervousness all at once. It was nearly overwhelming.

“You really want me to have these?” He asked, his voice not much above a whisper. 

“Of course, all for you. You deserve them.” Y/n said simply, though she wanted to proclaim that he deserved so much more than a simple box of chocolates. 

But he looked at her like she hung the flaming moon, like she was all he had ever wanted. Because, simply put, that’s exactly how he felt. 

“Y/N,” he started, carefully placing the chocolates on the coffee table in front of him, never taking his eyes off of hers, “You are the most generous, kind, beautiful soul I have ever met,” Now that his hands were free, he reached for hers. Gently caressing the backs of her hands with his thumbs, he gazed into her eyes with all the adoration in his heart. “I’m honored you would gift these to me. Thank you so much.”

Y/N was so happy she could cry. And she nearly did. Reth made her feel so safe and appreciated, and she knew he reciprocated everything she felt by the way he looked at her now. She glanced at his lips and wondered what they would feel like pressed to her own, and now she understood Kenyatta perfectly. 

He seemed to read her mind, moving one hand to her face, gliding his thumb over her cheekbone as he pressed his forehead to hers. With eyes closed to fully savor the moment, he whispered gently, “May I kiss you?”

Her heart was doing flips in her chest now as he moved ever closer, and she mewled out a meek ‘yes’, feeling the faint brush of his lips against her own due to their proximity. 

He wasted no time once she had consented, and he pressed a gentle kiss to her lips. His hand on her face held her in place, and his other hand moved to her back to pull her closer. Her own hands rested on his strong forearm, and one on his shoulder as she deepened the kiss. He was all over her, invading her senses, and all she could think was more, more, more. She wasn’t sure what ‘more’ entailed, but she would happily spend the rest of her life figuring it out. She needed him impossibly closer, and he seemed to be thinking the same thing by the way his hands gripped the fabric of her dress. His tongue gently opened her mouth, allowing himself access to her. The sensation was foreign but she found it wasn’t unpleasant. She allowed him to explore her mouth for a little while, and just enjoyed the feeling of him pressed against her. 

Reth was ecstatic that Y/N returned his feelings, and was even happier that she was content to sit in his arms. He had dreamed of this moment ever since he first laid eyes on her, that first day she came into his world. He relished in the feeling of her so close, her warm body pressing ever closer, her hands wandering across his arms and back. She touched his neck at the base of his hair, and he simply melted into her touch. She was everything he could have ever wanted. 

He got so excited that he scooped his hands under her legs, chuckling at her gasp of surprise as he lifted her into his lap. Warm hands settled on her hips as she gazed into his eyes with all the love in her heart. He just wanted her closer, so he pulled her to his chest for a deep hug. He pet her hair, gently carding his fingers through as she sighed into his shoulder. Nuzzling her nose into his neck, Y/N sighed contentedly. She could sit like this forever, legs on either side of his, as close as she could possibly be, and wondered what she would have to do to make this a daily occurrence. 

“Reth?” She asked, after many minutes of just sitting in each other’s presence. 

“Yes, Y/N?”

“Will you be mine? Only mine?”

“Yes my love, I’m already yours.”

[essmeow]

CHAPTER ONE : MIST

❝ first meetings & other cliches ❞ previous | masterlist | next wc | 1.2k

as you step off the train, a cool autumn breeze sweeps past you, lifting the soft flowy sleeves of your top. the train ride from your new aparemnt to work was only about a half an hour, and now you stood down the road from the used bookstore. the streets are quieter than you're used to—and the light of early morning filters through the trees, casting shadows on the pavement.

you countined to walk down the sidewalk, only a few cars passing you on the slow road. as you apprach the bookstore, you stop. it was older, a hand painted sign that had seemingly start to chip away over the years. the wooden exterior—weathered by seasons of sun and rain, gave off a sense of warmth and welcoming.

the doors were glass, you peeked inside. you saw nanami at the front coutner—his focus fixed on a stack of papers he was carefully sorting through. you looked to the right, seeing a younger boy around your age with striking pink hair that caught the light in an almost unreal way. he was on a ladder, sorting through books on the higher shelf.

you walked in, a small bell hanging above the door letting out a small ring. nanami looked up, giving you a small smile before speaking.

"ah, y/n, there you are! right on time."

"goodmorning."

you looked around the store, it was cozy—older looking books lining the walls. a few movie posters—classic films with faded edges, and framed photographs adorned the other walls. the lighting was warm, the store being lit by natural lighting and a few lamps across the floor. the cash register where nanami was standing was wooden, there was even a type-writer on the counter and a few trienkets.

your gaze drifted to the pink haired boy you had saw in the window earlier. he was lost in the rhythm of whatever song was playing in his headphones, his head bobbing to the beat. he was wearing baggy jeans that were swallowing his sneakers and a red oversized hoodie. he seemed completely absorbed in his own world as he restocked books. you wonder why he choose to dye his hair pink but you on't want to stare, so you just look back at nanami.

"yuji."

nanami spoke, bringing his glasses up with his finger. he looked but also tired—wearing an oversized-ish collared sweater and khaki pants. defintly more mature then shoko, even though she mentioned he was in the year before her in school.

the pink-haired boy, yuji, dosen't reply, you assume he can't hear over his music and you wonder how safe it is for him to be on a ladder while not being able to hear. nanami groans and clears his throught twice.

"yuji!"

he says, much loader this time, almost even startling you. yuji finally looks back—moving his headphones down to his neck. he looks over to nanami, then to you, and you think you see his eyes widen a bit when he glances at you.

"yo, you must be the new employee!"

he jumps down from the ladder, you make another mental note of something that is proably not very safe that he's doing and he runs over to where you're standing in front of the cash register. you open your mouth to begin to speak, but nanami instead introduces you.

"this is y/n l/n, she's moved here all the way from the city and she'll be working with you."

he smiles a bit to bright for your liking and moves his hand forward to shake yours. you're caught off guard by the gesture, hesitating for a moment, then reach out to shake his hand, and he grips yours firmly.

"im yuji itadori, nice to meet you!"

"nice to meet you."

"yuji, can you show her the ropes please? i have to make a few calls about the next shipment."

nanami spoke, heading into a door which you assumed was his office. for a moment, you were confused as to why he would leave the register unattended—but it was only 8:30 in the morning, there probably won't be many costumers.

"sure thing nanamin!"

yuji replied cheerfully as he made his way to the back corner of the store. you followed behind him, trying hard not to be annoyed by how effortlessly upbeat he seemed.

"so, all we have to do is unload these boxes of used books. it's pretty easy—but i'll show you how, 'kay?"

you nodded in response, mentally cursing yourself for forgetting your headphones—now you'd actually have to talk to him.

he picked up a book on the top of the box, his fingers brushing off the dust with a quick sweep.

"there will be a tiny sticker on the spine that says the genre, look at that and find the section for it! pretty easy, huh?"

"sounds fine."

you replied in a monotone voice. you looked around the store once agian, seeing a small handwritten sign next to the diffrent sections. you decided that you liked the charm of the store—most if not all of the furniture and decorations being vintage.

"its nice right? i love it here. i've been going here for ages even though i don't read a lot, been trying to get nanami to sell comics for like ever but he says that they're not real books."

you watched Yuji as he spoke, pulling a few books from the box. as you observed him, you couldn't help but wonder about the dynamic between him and nanami—they clearly knew each other well, probably for quite some time. you decided that you probably needed to start conversation with him.

"so you like comics?"

he sparked up, as he grabbed a few books also. "yeah! my favorites spiderman...but you can probably tell from my hoodie."

you glanced back to his hoodie and then up to his smiling face. it was sort of...cute, but you quickly pushed that thought away. no way.

"i liked across the spiderverse, the animation was nice—i've always loved animated films."

you replied, placing a book in a shelf as you spoke. a hint of annoyance stirred within you—why did you have to find something in common with him? after all, you weren’t here to make friends.

"you like movies, what's your favorites? i love movies."

"i like studio ghibli stuff, anything tim burton, human earthwo-"

"you like human earthworm! those are my all time favorites."

you turned around as he spoke, his face lighting up in excitment. You nodded, feeling a slight spark of excitement yourself. turns out, you had more in common with him than you thought.

"hold on, wait."

he quickly ran over to the register, rummaging through the drawrs untill he grabbed what seemed to be a peice of paper and a pen. he clumsly scribbled something down before rushing back to you.

"here's my number, please text me after work! i've never met anyone here that likes the same movies as me."

you hesitated for a moment. you'd never had anyone seem to eager to be your friend before, it made you slightly...happy. and you thought he seemed not to bad to be friends with.

"alright."

you took the slip of paper from him and slipped it into your pant pocket.

the rest of your shift went supprisnly well, you spent the day restocking books while yuji chatted with you intermittently. nanami came back and seemed pleased the two of you were getting along. as costumers started coming in, the pace went by fast, and before you knew it, the day had flown by.

once you were back home, you sank onto the couch and pulled out your phone, carefully typing in yuji's number.

notes / extras :

yuji's backstory will be reveled in later chapters :3

the store is very vintage, nanami got all the furnite from antique shops and thrifting (he probably thrifts his clothes for the most part aswell)

yuji LOVES spiderman

yn is a bit scary at first...yuji was 100% nervous around her untill she started talking about things they have in common

yn reminds nanami of his younger self

a/n : chapter one !!! i love writing this sm already guys, yuji & nanami are so fun to write! you guys are in for a wild ride w/ the yuji and yn backstory lore drop coming soon hehe, also not proofread shh

taglist : ask/comment to be added @brideads @stillnotherapy @solaqes @chososcamgirl @yuu-via @mikikkoo @gumims @hel-lhound @m1ndfulsorrows @fushiguruuzzzz @kiss-my-asscheeks @rreveurdoll

[theodorequartz]

[ His Companion ] Hazbin Hotel Various x Male Reader

Part 7: Her Comfort

__________________________

The curious little entity roamed around the endless darkness

__________________________

You smiled warmly at him as he joyfully danced around.

*gasp! " ___ look!"

Your eyes widened with amazement.

You let out a shaky breath of awe.

" I'm just like you now!"

You laughed and embraced him.

" Yeah.."

__________________

You sat quietly beside Vaggie, silently looking as Vaggie raged to the radio overlord about the crappy commercial that he made. You patted her shoulder as a reassurance as Charlie tried to calm her down.

Your phone rang as Angel dust rambled about how he was made to be exploited, or rather his body. You politely excused yourself, glancing at the number on the phone and then at Alastor as he stared back at you.

It was a brief eye contact, something that can be mistaken as just a coincident. But Husk caught up to it and felt somewhat uneasy in his gut.

Just as you left to answer the call, you also heard Charlie's ringtone. You caught the name of the caller. Dad. You almost let out a smile.

Lucifer huh? It's been quite a long while...

Your lord doesn't let you see him as much. And who are you to deny him?

You went back to your phone, answering it.

" Hello, baby cakes~"

" Lord Valentino, I hope you are doing well. Is there something you need?"

" Straight to the point, that's what I like about you~"

" I am glad that you are pleased with me. It's an honor to br accepted by the loyal partner of lord Vox. "

Behind the phone screen your smile turned coldly sarcastic, contrasting to your gently and genuine voice.

" Hmm~ that's what I like to hear. So about what I called you for, I need---"

You listened to his requests or rather orders whilst mindlessly twirling the burning pink mist on your fingers. They tangled in your fingers, swaying with every command of the motions.

It was obedient, compliant and mindless. Trapped. Just like how this stupid overlord will be. Not yet, but soon. You'll just haved to train him more.

Even little insects can be beneficial once your lord gets to sit on the throne.

You ended the call and went back to the main lobby where Charlie was singing and dancing. You blinked, watching her skip her way down the sinful streets of hell.

" What happened when I was gone?" you asked with a lost and confused tone.

" Oh don't worry about it babe. Just princess there getting called about meeting angels or sum shit." Angel replied to you with a shrug and then he went on to proceed his flirting with the angry cat demon.

" Angels?" you were ecstatic. Yet you voiced your tone as a confused one.

" Yeah.. Her dad told her that there was gonna be a meeting with the angels and she was allowed to be part of it in stead for him."  Vaggie replied this time.

" Ah... I see." you said as you concealed a cold smile.

The only angels who would be willing to be on a meeting with a demon... are the once who new about the extermination.

And they wouldn't just send some lowly exterminator angel.

You covered half of your face to hide your grin. Oh.. Everything is going according to plan~

" M/n?" Vaggie's voice called out to you in concern.

You blinked, snapping out of your malicious thoughts.

" Hmm?"

" You alright?"

" Yes, of course. I just remembered something I should be doing. It's pretty important, you see. Would it be alright if I go out for a moment?"  you said with your usual gentle and polite smile.

" Yeah, sure. You've done a lot more that anyone else anyways. " She said as she pointed a glare at the rest of the staff and the only patron.

Alastor just sent her a grin, Nifty a maniacal cackle, Husk a middle finger and Angel raised a brow in amusement.

You let out a breathly laugh and pat her in the back.

" Don't be too hard on them, I'm sure that they're doing the best they can." you smiled.

Vaggie just sighed and nodded her head.

" Well, I'm off!" you waved them goodbye as you ran out of the door.

Alastor's grin came out sharper and menacing for a moment.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

" ARGH!! FUCK!! " Charlie yelled as she slammed the door of the meeting room with her fists. This was a failure. This man was not the angel she had expected to meet. She tought....

" Charlie?"

She gasped and turned around to see you standing just a few distance behind her. You had your usual gentle gaze that was currently filled with concern. Your warm smile subtly crooked from worry.

" M/n! What...what are you... doing here?" her voice cracked and she almost couldn't get out a full sentence. Hopelessness and defeat creeping up to her.

" I went on an errand and just happen to pass by after... I thought that I'd wait for you out here so we could walk home together. " you said with much warmth that she had expected from a mother. Not noticing that you emphasized the word home.

" I.." before Charlie could get out another word, though honestly she didn't feel like she could without breaking into tears.

You gave her another warm smile and reached out to her.

" Let's go home, Char."

Charlie looked up at your hand... And took it.

This was the first time in her whole life that someone reached out for her.

She was always the one who lent her hand to everyone she meets for their comfort, to help.

She was always the one to try to reach out for others. She reached out to Vaggie when they first met to help her. She reached out to Angel dust when he was full of sorrow. She had reached out to Husk, who she new was carrying heavy pain.

She had reached out for her father when he locked himself in that dark room..... She had reached our for her mother, as her back faced her, before she left.

No one has ever lend our their hand for her to take. Not her father, not Vaggie, not her mother... You.

Ever since you came... You were the main source of help and comfort she had other than her girlfriend.

You had volunteered to help the hotel to what it is now. You had comforted her just after Alastor came in, giving her your genuine support.

Some hidden times when she cried for her mother... You came to wipe her tears and give her warm hugs.

And the times when she wished that she could go back to when she was just a child, dreaming about demon's redemption with her mother and father right beside her happily laughing... You indulged with her fantasy and shared your own.

She wondered if it would be selfish.. To always go to you and ask for your comfort everytime she feels even a little bit down.

Charlie's eyes were clouded with her thoughts as you quietly guided her towards the hotel. You held her hand and shoulder as she leaned on you and let you guide her.

You had dragged away every demon's shadow if they get even 5 feet close.

Out of sight.....

Soft glow of golden flecks swirled between the fingers that held her hand.

______________

___________________

Until it found a little light

___________________

" One day, I'm gonna build a wold just for us!"  he exclaimed with joy.

" Hmm.. Really?"

" Yeah! A world where there's only happiness and freedom! Just for the two of us!"

" That sounds... amazing. I can't wait to live in that world. Though, right now, I think I'm already living in that world. " you said smiling.

" Well, we'll make this even better! "

You laughed at his enthusiasm. But really... nothing could be more better than this.

@christinebloodwrittings

[rileyglas]

The List ~Pt. 1 - Creation~

Alastor (Hazbin Hotel) x Reader

This is my first-time writing fanfic but I literally cannot get the stories out of my brain so…why not make everyone else suffer. This is part one of a story I’ve been rolling around some time. I feel setting a good foundation for the reader/main character is super important, so I PROMISE this story gets better. Be prepared for the usual angst, mystery (Alastor), sassiness (Lucifer), fluff, eventual smut (yes horny readers bear with me we need some plot), and of course 18+ because….it’s Hazbin what do you expect?

Summary: f!reader finds themselves in Hell. Unable to accept your horrible fate you make it a point to continue being a bright soul surrounded by the darkness of Hell. With some higher advice, you create a list of rules to live. A short list to keep out danger and continue helping the lower sinners of Pentagram City. It’s the ONLY way you can survive (right?). Your list begins to crumble when you start helping Lucifer’s daughter with some hotel and a dream to redeem the same sinners you want to protect.

**sentences in italics are internal thoughts of the reader

1.5k Words

Part 1 (You're on it!) Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5  Part 6 Part 7 Part 7.A Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12

Rumor was all sinners would spawn in hell with attributes related to their life and (untimely) death. Your gift power was proof of that.

“Everyone get inside! Come on before the exorcists see you.” You hurry the last of the smaller sinners inside a building. It kills you to see such fear from the souls. “Lock the door. I'll lure them away.”

How foolish you were. Somehow a heart of gold followed you to these depths after death...ironic how even the nicest people end up in hell. God really does have his favorites I suppose.

But that foolishness led you to the best thing to happen to you, so you thought. Dodging through the streets, maneuvering, anything to lead the "angels" away from even the worst of sinners. Cursing praying for their safety. It was only your second extermination, but you already caught onto their game. It was all too easy to get around their sloppiness. Needing a breather, you weave around some cars and dive behind a dumpster. Idiots can't even keep track of my thickass? Pathetic!

A few moments pass as it grows quiet. Your breath begins to steady when the softest whimper catches your attention. As quietly (and non-threatening) as possible, you turn the corner to approach a crying dark mass curled on the ground. Seeing their blood pooling sends your stomach into flips. Not another one. Fearing the worst you gently reach out. “Hey hey...shhh..." you utter, feeling her wince ever so slightly. "No don't panic I'm here to help. Where are you hurt?"

The young girl slowly uncrumples herself to show her wound...a massive "X" sliced hips to neck. It was so deep you couldn't believe she was still breathing let alone even moving. Fuck she's lost too much blood. "Come here let me try to stop the bleeding" you lied. You knew she had no chance. But your chest hurt at the thought of her dying (again) alone in some shit alley. With the last of her strength she curled into you, her white hair tickling your face. She had her textured locks pulled back tightly and black horns accenting the top of her head. Her tired red eyes relaxed, slowly closing as she leaned into you. Such a beautiful girl falling to such a terrible fate. With one hand on part of her wound, you used your other to softly stroke her head. “I'm so sorry young one...just breathe in and know you're not alone.” As her breathing shallows you gently kiss her forehead, bidding her soul a gentle goodbye.

The second your lips touch her skin, pure fire floods through your veins. Every nerve in your body feeling ripped apart. You spasm from the pain, clenching onto the girls now limp body. Just when the pain starts misting your vision you see flashes of...pink? "What the fuck!!" You grit through your teeth. What felt like hours of pain was merely a few seconds and it quickly dissipated from your body as did the pink light. Shit shit shit, there’s no way the exorcist didn’t hear OR SEE that! You stay perfectly still...listening to the silence with your mind reeling over what just happened.

A gasp breaks the deafening silence, pulling you back to reality. The young girl jolted out of your arms, gasping in as much air as she could. Looking down you notice her wounds were gone, only dry blood and tattered cloth remained from the laceration. You look at each other in panic and shock.

After inspecting her stomach she snaps out of her daze, remembering you two were still not safe.

"It's too dangerous to stay out here. Come with me - we aren’t far from the safehouse. I am sure my mother will want to meet you."

You follow without hesitation. Trust has always been a weakness. As you make your way through the city, she explains how she was out collecting angelic weapons with her sister when they got separated. After getting cornered she just accepted her fate...then you found her. "The name is Clara by the way. Clara Carmine. I usually just go by CC though."

You never intended to get into the Overlord game. You were merely trying to make the best, quiet life in hell if that was even possible. Guess things change when you save the daughter of Hells most prestigious Overlord. Who could say no to being taken in and protected by THE Carmilla Carmine.

Carmilla immediately began preparing you after hearing of the power you possessed. The power to heal with touch...of course it’s not that easy…it required pure intensions, coming from a place of love. Who the hell (pun intended) wrote this cruel joke for a sinner? How did the lowest of low get given such power just a few short years after arriving? It was your most precious secret. It had to be. If anyone of ill will found out - and come on, it's Hell - your soul would have been the most sought after in the pride ring. You wouldn’t last a day. Carmilla was indebted to you for saving Clara, so she made a deal to give you protection and mentorship as repayment. The first of many deals you’d make in Hell, growing the power you held.

In the years you've been under Carmilla's watch, you created a short list of rules to keep yourself out of harm’s way -

1. Never trust another Overlord

2. Never tell a soul what (or how much) power you have

3. Never bring anyone too close

4. Never let your weaknesses show

It was a simple enough list that had worked for you so far.

You chose to make deals with those who needed protection or help while navigating the dangerous afterlife. In your deals each soul was bound to secrecy as to who you were and what you provided. Contract details and fine print were your specialty. Your soul count was the highest Carmilla had ever seen for someone so new, so merciful. She would often mention only one other sinner ever rose the ranks as quick though his methods were…less than savory. She never bothered to say who. Every Overlord meeting the rumors spread of some "Saving Grace" sinner making their way into powerful ranks. A shadow giving vile hope. But just as quick as those rumors appeared - they were put to rest when no new faces ever appeared. Of course you were there - you needed to attend for information just as much as the next guy, but you never sat as an Overlord. Carmilla granted you a place off to the side as "the help" to serve tea or make notes as needed. No one ever batted an eye to someone considered just a worker bee in Carmilla's hive.

Every meeting was the same, though it seemed unease was rising after each extermination. Six years had passed since you fell into this hellhole (har har). Another extermination, another meeting. Sitting in your designated corner, you twirl your pen as the Overlords began taking their seats. Might as well be invisible - but you preferred it that way. As your mind slightly wonders to less important things, the quiet buzz of conversations around you fades away from your ears.

"—yes I know I’ve been absent some time. I'm sure you've ALL been wondering!"

Your attention snaps back with the sound of this charming new voice. The demon was dressed to the nines - red suit jacket, gloves, freshly pressed slacks. Your already preoccupied mind raced. Who the hell is that? Where has he been? Why does he have that shit eating grin?

He must hold some power to be sitting here after all these years…

"Not really. But welcome back in any case."

That dismissal from Camilla was enough for you to put aside any questions you had of the demon. You knew this meeting would be tense. Can't afford distractions when you needed to be all ears. As you began writing you felt something in the pit of your stomach. Was someone staring at you? You try to shake the feeling when Velvette made her grand entrance. With a sigh and eye roll you set aside your notebook. God damn this woman, no respect, no couth. Gonna be a long one today.

The sinking feeling returns, this time you catch the culprit. The (new to you) demon Overlord is staring at you as if you’re the only one in the room. You make eye contact hoping he moves his gaze, but it only fuels the intensity on you. That smile never faltering. Your ears ring and static pricks your ear drums. Can I fuckin help you sir? Wait no, you're just the help. Lower sinners would never even dream of speaking to an Overlord like such. Thankfully the eye contact breaks when Velvette tosses the head of an exorcist on the table.

Ah I suppose this will be quite a fascinating meeting…